My Brother Red Clay

Red Clay, you are not Jerusalem.

You are Ephraim.

Jerusalem is a false prophet.

You are a true prophet.

The peoples hate you

Though you speak the truth in your heart.

Now, depart from sin,

Or shall I, like Israel

Teach you to abandon your idols?

Yet, Jerusalem, I hope you are saved

Oh false shepherd.

With the withered arm

And broken eye.

I saw you in your mischief.