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    They dress it up with gold and silver to make it more impressive.
        Then they nail it down so it won’t fall over!
    This is what they worship? The idol just stands there—
        lifeless, powerless like a scarecrow in a cucumber patch.
    It cannot speak. It cannot move. They must pick the thing up and bring it along.
        Do you see why there’s nothing to fear from these dead pieces of wood?
    They cannot harm you, and they cannot help you either.

O Eternal One, there is no comparison.
    You are great; even Your name is powerful.

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