Quotes about psalm, page 12
My Redeemer Lives!
Even when I am old and gray
Lord, I will sing You praise
And though my life may ebb away
I will declare Your amazing Grace!
For You, O God have held me through
My darkest hours and human failings
A Faithful God, Lord You are True
You changed my mournings into dancing.
You are the Father to the fatherless
Near to the lost and brokenhearted
Shield for the lonely and the hopeless
Healer of the downcast and afflicted.
When my strength and flesh shall decay
I know the God Whom I believed
I know that my Savior for me prays
Jesus Christ, My Redeemer lives!
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Pride
Pride exalts itself
It cannot ask for help
It cannot even pray
Humbly kneel today
It never bows to ask
It wears a stoical mask
Pride can breed anger
Can't forgive the offender.
It goes for years in heights
A pedestal of Rights
Knows only 'I, me, mine'
As long as Self is fine.
No pity, no compassion
Just selfish, rude emotions
It cannot say 'I'm sorry'
Though mistakes are many.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Psalm 95
A Psalm before prayer.
Sing to the Lord Jehovah's name,
And in his strength rejoice;
When his salvation is our theme,
Exalted be our voice.
With thanks approach his awful sight,
And psalms of honor sing;
The Lord's a God of boundless might,
The whole creation's King.
Let princes hear, let angels know,
How mean their natures seem,
Those gods on high and gods below,
When once compared with him.
Earth, with its caverns dark and deep,
Lies in his spacious hand;
He fixed the seas what bounds to keep,
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Judgement Day
Who's going to judge me when I die?
No one else other than I.
For who knows better what I have done?
I can't think of anyone.
I will see my life in full reflection
and know where I have failed.
And understanding of this will help me to see
that I rue these things sorrowfully.
I will atone for all of my mistakes
and then take wing and soar.
I'll become as a new born babe again
just as I've been before.
There is no judgemental God I must face.
There is only little old me.
And I am the strict enforcer
of all that I'm striving to be.
So I'll take my rest from the trials on earth
and enjoy celestial calm.
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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Enjoying the Presence of God
My soul is at rest in You,
For I am like a tree
planted beside streams of water,
bearing fruit in season.
My mind is fed by You
For Your wisdom comes
like fresh rain on parched land,
growing oaks of righteousness.
My heart is refreshed by You
As softly You speak in Spirit
like a gentle breeze at Horeb,
each breath a speech of love.
My being is lifted in You
As I scale to the Rock higher than I
reaching clouds of Your Presence,
standing in the heights of refuge.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Proud
Pride exalts itself
It cannot ask for help
It cannot even pray
Humbly kneel today
It never bows to ask
It wears a stoical mask
Pride can breed anger
Can't forgive the offender
It goes for years in heights
A pedestal of Rights
Knows only 'I, me, mine'
As long as Self is fine
No pity, no compassion
Only selfish emotions
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Golden Whistler
Golden bird whose golden voice,
When the summer days wax long
Cheery optimist from choice
Bids the feathered world rejoice
With full many a varied song
From the tree-tops flinging free
Golden bursts of melody.
Golden notes for golden hours
Where the sunlit waters gleam,
And the fragrant wattle flow'rs
Swoon in scented golden show'rs
To the bosom of the stream,
Singing, swinging, fluting high
None so gay, so glad as I.
Golden in the dawn's first hush
Sounds my matin, loud and long,
With a sweet, spontaneous rush,
Vying with harmonious thrush
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Manifest Thy Glory
A troubled soul has cried today
His words were lost in pained emotions,
His thoughts at random as he prays,
O Lord, give ear to his devotion.
For all of us are like lost sheep
We wander 'bout in our solutions,
We go in circles, fall down deep,
In our quicksands of destruction.
Our strength is gone, so with our will,
Our troubles multiply to drown us.
We run to You Lord, You will heal,
For Your Name's sake, save this Dust.
Please take our hand and help us Lord!
We've seen what you have done for others.
Our hope is in Your promised Word,
And our affliction is not forever.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Yes I Am A Christian, Does That Bother You?
My words they come
As I want them to
They may cut some
Does that bother you?
I write my thoughts
My own convictions
Whether they are sought
Not my restriction.
You have your freedom
Well so do I!
My faith consumes
That is no lie.
Yes I'm a Christian
Write most of God,
Share Truth to man
That makes me glad.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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1985
The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth
the vengeance; he shall wash his feet in
the blood of the wicked. Psalm 58
It was the fortieth year since Buchenwald: two thousand
Jewish refugees in Sudan starved while Reagan visited
the graves of Nazis. CBS paid off Westmoreland
for their rude disclosure of his lies and crimes:
he had killed thirty of the enemy, let’s not forget,
for every one lost us: he was owed something.
That year, though, no terrorist could touch God’s work
in Mexico and north of Bogota: an earthquake here,
volcano there, and numbers do not signify the dead,
each corpse incomprehensible as to the widow Klinghoffer
her Leon, shot, dumped overboard as if to make a point.
Westmoreland said, the Viet Cong could be indentified
from the attacking aircraft as all personnel in uniform
below. Their uniform, he told us, was the native dress.
poem by Brooks Haxton
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