Calvin's Children

Puritan, Covenanter, Huguenot,
Did you find what you were looking for?
Whence arose that sharp fine-honed precision,
That armed you in theological war?

Indulging in dark beer from Wittenberg,
Did old Greek scripts charge your soul?
Did the merchants unsettle your accounts
With tracts and booklets bought and sold?

Why did your unsatisfied soul hate incense?
Your candles were used for Bible reading.
For priests’ destruction, your intercession;
You bled against a sacrifice still bleeding.

What contentment being a Calvinist malcontent?
Never did you know comfort in a smooth creed.
You carried crosses and tore down altars.
You weaned your nations from ritualistic feed.

What contentment being a Calvinist malcontent?
Both shepherds and sheep were sacrificed–
Your sermons’ blazes stoked by burning preachers;
You loosed fanatics; no compromises sufficed.

Puritan, Covenanter, Huguenot,
With battle cries for holy war,
You rent kingdoms and shook stable monarchs,
With an ear to a Genevan voice from afar.

With Calvin’s lens scanning an open Bible:
No bishop, no king—all promise, not threat,
You confessed unto death a living faith,
Your martyrs warned children not to forget.

The words of the Word so painfully studied,
In fearful thought of displeasing your God;
The double bladed dissevering of a sinful vein
And pained agony of a father’s chastening rod.

There were millers grinding corn routinely,
And carpenters ignoring slight overlaps;
But for you every false kiss was given by Judas
And all errors were Tarshish-bound ships.

Perhaps some cottage in England, Scotland, or France,
With your laughing children playing round the door
Haunted your memories, while locked in prison—
With that ravenous faith that cried, “More, more.”

Puritan, Covenanter, Huguenot,
You crossed the Sinai ocean to explore,
On those rotted hulks of west bound vessels
That carried you to an eastern shore.

You built bright cities that crested great hills,
You dedicated to Kings Jesus, James, and George,
Colonies that became a faithful and wayward nation,
Of mettle from the Reformation forge.

Puritan, Covenanter, Huguenot,
You died unhappily happy in your day;
If you could see us, you in misery and joy
With imprecatory thanksgiving would pray.

Puritan, Covenanter, Huguenot—
You sketched earthly plans for heavenly glories
With rivulets of blood-soaked presbyteries
And lots of Sabbath eve bedtime stories.