He flashed his hands,
Against the many
Who availed him;
Piercing the covenant:
His mouth, was
Smoother than butter;
But battle,
Was in his heart:
His words, were
Softer than oil;
Yet were they
Drawn swords!
Behold, he is but
A well without water,
And a cloud
Carried aloft
By the tempest;
Unto whom,
The mist of darkness,
Is reserved:
For ever.