Poetry

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The Lord’s Spirit is upon me,
To bring good news unto the poor;
Bind the brokenhearted to see,
Making them able to mature.

Proclaim freedom to the captives,
Opening up the prison gates;
No longer being fugitives,
Not bounded to an ill fate.

Proclaim the year of His favor,
Days of vengeance of our God;
Comfort the mourn as their Savior,
That they always honor and laud.

Grant all those who mourn in Zion,
Give them a beautiful headdress;
Sureness to roar like a lion,
Anoint with oil of gladness.

A robe of praise for their spirit,
Be called as oaks of righteousness;
Planting for the Lord their merit,
Glorified in His graciousness.

They shall build up ancient ruins,
Raising former devastations;
That had been destroyed for their sins,
Ravaged by past generations.

Copyright © 2025 Richard Newton Sherrer

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