The Judge

This poem is in the form of a ballad.

A child was born, his mother’s first,
Who tried each thing he could;
Each thing he tasted with his mouth,
And judged if it was good.

A growing boy, he learned from books
What men did love and prize;
He learned of virtue and of good,
And he became more wise.

So he did take his lessons all,
And saw the world through them;
He judged each thing with expertise,
Be it a rock or gem.

The man became an expert judge,
And, all throughout the land,
His judgment was a valued thing,
For his unbiased stand.

But after many years of life,
The man began to doubt;
He felt his judgments were not just;
What was it all about?

The things he’d learned in all the books,
He felt were simply air;
The judgments that he’d made till now,
They were not just or fair.

He felt he could not see the whole,
And he felt quite confused;
Have I been wrong about my life?
Have I my job misused?

How do I know how things will work,
When all is said and done?
The things that I have judged against
Could be the shining sun.

And so the judge withdrew his claim
That he could wisely make
Decisions for those who wanted them;
He felt he’d been a fake.

I’m not aware of all the things
That go into our life;
And if I stop my judgments now,
Perhaps I’ll know less strife.

It was a heavy burden that
I’ve carried on my back;
I’ve judged against or for a man;
I’ll drop my heavy pack.

And from now on I will not judge;
I’ll let Someone more wise;
He sees and knows how all things work;
He has clean thoughts and eyes.

Each thing that I did judge against,
It could have been His plan,
To use it as a way to life;
I will no longer ban.

And now the man accepts all things;
He’s free, and he is glad;
He lets the Spirit do His work,
Calls nothing good or bad.

And if he finds his mind goes back
To its judgmental ways,
He views his thoughts, but lets them go,
And so he spends his days.