Poetry

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Unto Your name give glory, Lord,
For the sake of Your steadfast love;
Your faithfulness is not ignored,
As flowing down from up above.

Where is the god for the heathen,
Our God does what He pleases;
Our God is up in Heaven,
As His blessings He releases.

Their idols are silver and gold,
They are the work of human hands;
And have been poured out from a mold,
No movement from where they stand.

They have mouths but will never speak,
Ears and eyes but not hear or see;
Unable to know how to seek,
No salvation to set you free.

They have hands but will never feel,
They have feet but will never walk;
Unable to giving you zeal,
Nor will they respond when you talk.

Those who make them will be like them,
So do all of those who would trust;
But our Lord God will condemn,
Condemnation that will be just.

Copyright © 2024 Richard Newton Sherrer

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