That Old Wedge

It was auction day
As all made their way
To see what the Devil would sell.
The brilliant array
Of tools on display
Was more than number could tell.

There were knives and hammers
And colorful lures
As well as traps in disguise,
A net for men’s hearts
And fiery darts—
The assortment reached to the skies.

But off in a corner,
Set safely of former,
A small, simple wedge sat alone,
Save for a sign
That was posted quite nigh
With “Not For Sale” written in stone.

“Whatever is this?
Why would it be missed?”
One picked up the little old wedge.
“I think I shall ask.”
Through the crowd he then passed
To the owner who sat on a ledge.

“Sir, might I inquire
Why this you desire
Of all your tools of great price?
I pray you to tell
Why its not even for sale;
What makes its value so nice?”

“Ahh! My wedge so you found!
Just hearing the sound
Of that wedge so old and worn
Gives hope in my sight
That I just might
Again blow the victory horn.”

Taking the wedge
He tapped at the edge
And nodded with a grin.
His voice then grew quiet
As he carefully held it,
Then, slyly, he spoke again.

“This wedge is a treasure
To work my own pleasure
Within the heart of man,
Especially in Christians,
The light of the nations,
When my other weapons they ban.

I first set out lures
In hopes to secure
Their fall by means of distraction.
If that succeeds not,
I do what I ought
To end their lives in destruction.

But, oh! Their great God
Hates me on His sod
And keeps them quite from my reach.
Their hearts firm in faith
Will not give me place,
My wicked doctrines to teach.

I might give up there,
Except for this, here,
My little old wedge so sly.
I slowly sneak into
Their hearts, quite subdued,
Then give this tool my best try.

Into a crevasse
I slip this device—
It usually enters with ease.
I pry and I tap,
Then when it is cracked
I insert whatever I please.

The crevasse I look for
When prying a door
Is that of deep weariness.
You know how men,
Every now and then,
Do wish for a spiritual rest.

That’s all I need
To insert and feed
My faithful old wedge so small.
It always has worked,
Save on those still alert
Who on their great God quickly call.

When they do THAT,
Oh, how I do hate!
For then He helps them to praise,
Which closes the door
Into which I could pour
My sly and wicked ways.

But, nevertheless,
I proudly confess
I’ve still won many more fights
By simply waiting
For my prey to start fainting,
Then I quickly slip in this device.

And what is its name
But this I do claim,
To give you but a hint;
My faithful old wedge
With small and sharp edge
Is the Wedge of Discouragement.”

So, beware, my friend
And take care to attend
That tiny crevasse of woe.
The battle is waging,
Yet even in aging
Our armor we must not let go.

At times we’ll get weary,
Some days may be dreary,
Yet our Foe doth only rejoice.
Let’s not let him win
By creeping within;
We’re not left without choice.

Turn fast to the Lord,
Trust in His Word,
Your heart to Him you must pledge.
Think on His goodness!
Praise His forgiveness!
Never, never give place to that Wedge.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2013


  1. This is my favorite one!
    That old devil is a sly one...watch out!!!

  2. Grandmama (Emily Cannon)4/04/2015

    Such an important warning against discouragement, written in a most creative way! Elisabeth has a wonderful gift which she's faithfully using.