Under a Bethelian oak,
Sat the Young mighty Prophet
To take but a little rest
But it was not yet his rest.
There the Old Prophet came
With a mouth full of lies
Coated with superficial truth
But the latter knoweth not.
Then a little bread he took
To calm his senile hunger.
A little water he did add
To cool his unfounded rest.
Oh! What a deadly trap it was
For his belly led to his death
He was torn apart by lion
Ne'er more God's face to see.
Never rest when it's not your rest
Lest you never more to rest
Just a little more striving
And you'll enter into your rest.
