Elijah the Prophet

I’m Elijah the prophet.
The Lord said to me,
“Go tell poor King Ahab
That he’ll soon be free,
Of famine and drought,
Tell him I’ll send some rain.
But watch out for his wife.
Jezebel’s such a pain”.

I met with the king,
And I gave him the news.
Then he ranted and raved
As though he’d blown a fuse.
Eventually though,
He agreed to a test,
To see if wife’s prophets
Were bravest and best.

We met at Mount Carmel,
Eight hundred and fifty,
Of the Queen’s evil prophets,
All ugly and shifty.
I said to the people,
“Who do you believe?”
But nobody answered,
They’d just come for the feed.

The prophets of Baal
Then prepared a big alter,
And they killed a big bull,
With a wide golden halter.
I said, “Don’t light the fire,
Just prey to your god.
I know he won’t answer;
He’s only a log”.

The prophets were praying,
And then they were dancing.
They looked very silly,
All pouting and prancing.
I shouted, “Pray louder.
Perhaps he can’t hear.
Perhaps when you carved him,
You left off an ear”.

The prophets got angry,
And took out their knives.
Then injured themselves,
Till they near lost their lives.
I said, “Don’t get so cut up,
Don’t get in a tiff.
Bull’s been dead for so long,
It’s smelly and stiff”.

My turn was next,
So I built up the alter.
With the crowd looking on,
I thought, “I mustn’t falter”.
Around it I dug,
With a shovel, a trench.
The bull was so old now,
It really did stench.

With wood on the altar,
And on that the bull.
Then covered with water,
Till trench was all full.
I prayed then, just once,
So the people could hear.
Didn’t need to shout,
‘Cos the crowd was quite near.

The Lord sent down fire,
And the crowd gave a shout.
Then they chased the poor prophets
Around and about.
I waited a bit
At the top of the mountain.
As the crowd killed the prophets
With bawling and shouting.

Before long, there came
A small cloud and some rain.
I praised God he’d forgiven
His people again.
But don’t you forget now
The thing that’s quite nice.
God loves you far more
Than that bull sacrifice.

The fire that came down
And set fire to the kindle,
Can come upon you,
And give you a tingle.
If you are His sacrifice,
Laid on His alter,
You’ll obey all His laws …
You’ll follow, not falter.

© 1997 Dick Underwood

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