Chorus:
Straining at gnats,
Swallowing camels,
Compassion discarded,
As your piety thrives,
Majors of minors,
True majors forsaken,
The truth oft’ mistaken,
In the deeds of your lives.
Pillars of truth,
With confessions displaying,
Like phylacteries they lengthened long ago.
But lost and aloof,
In the Christ you’re portraying,
Fervent and foundational,
The love you should show.
Increasing in knowledge,
And the depth of your sacrifice,
With a purity that few can deny,
Vessels of virtue,
So burdened with splinters,
That you can not see the beam,
Extending far from your eye.
Poised in the bleachers,
Critiquing the action,
Quick to cite the failure and blame,
At halftime they cry out,
The need for participants,
But you will not leave your lofty seat,
To play in the game.
Bridge:
The harvest is ripe with grain,
And the laborers are so few,
Cause the workers stay in the pews.
Though your doctrine sound,
You’re still loosing ground.
Words and music by: Herb Williams 1999