Poetry

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I shall never be moved,
By Your favor, O Lord;
Prosperity behooved,
Remains in one accord.

Your mountain standing strong,
But it made me appalled;
Like there was something wrong,
Hid Your face when I called.

I plead for mercy O Lord,
What profit that’s in death;
In the pit I’m ignored,
Will dust praise in my breath?

Shall it declare Your truth,
About Your faithfulness;
Your mercy since my youth,
Comforts my bitterness.

Be merciful to me,
And be my assistant;
Open my eyes to see,
Strength as a resistant.

Copyright © 2025 Richard Newton Sherrer

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