Oh, the empty husks of grain,
separated from the mighty stalk
are being tossed to and fro
by the winds of wayward talk.
The chaff is but a barren skin,
covered in a lifeless shell
and so it gathers on the wind
those whom it can take to hell.
The grains of doubt grow wild,
and spreads like a searing fire
testing the flames of hell
with the blaze of man’s desire.
The chaff breaks up the wheat,
by shifting the heart on the vine
stirring up dissent with its lies
and mixing water with the wine.
Don’t get caught up in the winds,
where the truth is blown away
lest you fall from His grace
and be left behind one day.
For, the winnowing fork is in His hand,
and there’ll be threshing on the floor
He’ll gather His wheat up in the air
and leave the chaff at hell’s door!
King James Version
“Whose fan is in is hand,
and he will throughly purge his floor,
and gather his wheat into the garner;
but he will burn up the chaff
with unquenchable fire.”
Deborah Ann Belka