Poetry

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Praise the Lord, for it is good,
To sing praises to our God;
As His Word says that we should,
Giving Him honor and laud.

It is pleasant and fitting,
As the Lord is building up;
The outcasts that were quitting,
No longer go to worship.

He heals the brokenhearted,
While binding up their scars;
Completes what He has started,
Turning the wounds into stars.

He knows the number of stars,
Gives to all of them their name;
Logging into His memoirs,
For each of us to proclaim.

Our Lord is outstanding,
Discernment beyond measure;
Heaven always expanding,
While we give Him pleasure.

The Lord lifts up the humble,
Casts the wicked to the ground;
Because they always grumble,
Gripes of the Heavenly sound.

Sing to Him with thanksgiving,
Make melody with your breath;
Thank the Lord for your living,
Saving you to avoid death.

He covers Heaven with the clouds,
He prepares rain for the earth;
The sun hides as the cloud shrouds,
Giving all the plants new birth.

He gives to the beasts their food,
And to the young crows that cry;
Delights in their attitude,
For in vain they will not die.

He takes pleasure those who fear,
Those who hope in steadfast love;
Pleasure for who is sincere,
Hope in His mercy thereof.

Copyright © 2021 Richard Newton Sherrer

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