Winepress

I cannot help but jeer and laugh. Dull knives, and spears, and staves they raise to praise their golden calf, while standing in their graves. So soon have they forgot the staff of Him Who kills and saves. They break the law, of stone, in half. His hand, on hearts of stone, engraves. Great wrath is poured upon proud braves, for how each heart of stone behaves. He treads each stone. A path He paves. He drags the mighty from their caves, into His winepress. Made mere slaves. He drinks the wine His vengeance craves.