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Washed
My washed hands were poised, just so,
My Holy walk, was to and fro -
My prayers were loud, of many words,
My many fasts, three each week,
My possessions tithed, I often speak,
My perfect pattern God must see;
My chanting and phylacteries
Are above this sinner, vile
Who hopes that God will reconcile -
So few his words, his smitten breast,
Will God be granting his request?
Before I go, or say amen -
I'm glad I'm not like other men.
-Elizabeth Wallace Morehead-
Copyright owned by the
Wallace and Morehead
families.
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