A painter once gave his ear to his love
give Yours to my words
Grant me the chance to sigh
Listen for my helpless calling, crying
“My King! My God!”
To You I speak this eve
pre-noon, I wake, I see the sun
Lord, You overhear me, my first sound
My voice unveils my needs
And there I linger, eager, serene
You really don’t enjoy evil, do you?
Wicked live nowhere near you,
‘least as far as mine eye sees…
Arrogance kneels on the floor
of men’s hearts
Who can’t stand near you
(they know you hate scoundrels)
Liars dissolve as powder
in your hand
those manipulative blood-lusting
less-than-men you abhor,
and I’m trusting you on this.
Yet I, simply by your reservation
can walk through your doorway
fearfully bowing evermore
honoring you at your temple
and bracing for it.
You’re right. Prod me toward right – Your right.
Pave a road just for me
Right through the jungle of enemies I see
Right through this maze of terror.
No sound from their mouth brings assurance
For it shoots off their heart’s destruction
Making their throat a fresh-dug grave
An unclean cadaver within
And so their tongues
As a poetic, flowery, fresh head stone…
God, they’re guilty! LET IT BE KNOWN!
May that murderous spirit
Bury them alive
beneath the soil
Throw them away for their untold sins
uncountable piles of filth!
They deserve their dump for their rebellion.
But allow us who find shelter, find refuge in you
joyfully ever sing for bliss
Shroud us, wrap us, protect us in love
Under your canopy children rejoice
Shield us with favor, bind us above
As surrounded, our echo resounds
Hear our voice.