Scribbles:The Call of Father Iron
In the thrum of the earthquake, you hear my roar. In the clang of the forge, you hear my song. In the clench of the firm fist and the fruits of honest labor, you find my temple.
I am iron. You find me in the rough, in the earth. I am mined and smelted. I am melted in the fires of the forge. I am beaten, folded and shaped. I am purified by your hand, made strong by your toil. That is my first lesson.
I may be melted down, and reforged. I can be shaped. I am the edge of the sword, or the blade of the plow. This is my second lesson.
I am strong. I am at the heart of steel. I can be mixed with what I am not to become stronger, transmuted. This is my third lesson.
But if I am abandoned, I rust away and return to my earthen bed. This is my fourth lesson.
Stand after you have fallen, and you bow at my alter. Master craft, and you accept my eucharist. Abandon despair, and you give me my sacrifice. Toil with earnest, and you preach my sermon. Speak with truth and conviction, and you recite my prayer.
I am 'edabeled, Father Iron. I call you to worship.