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Quotes about psalm

Poem: A Psalm for the Prisoner

O Lord, hear my simple cry;
set this weary captive free!
For I’m condemned by my past,
imprisoned by the dungeon of me.

Break the restraints of attachment
that are distressing my soul -
Destroy the chains of my ignorance,
which continue to undermine Your control.

Forcefully storm the stony gates
that shelter the stronghold of my heart.
Let the destructive plague be swept away!
I thirst for Your Presence, as the woodland hart.

The shadow of Your magnificent wings,
protect me from the terrors of the night.
Shine Your Light into my spirit, thus allowing me…
To firmly stand by faith and not by human sight.

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Silent City

Deserted streets lie draped in dusk and yarns of yesterday,
with silent sounds no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life, abundant once, surceased and slipped away.

Against a sudden sullen burst (unleashing lashing waves
that washed the Silent City clean with radiance that laves) ,
neath soothing suds so soft and mild, the stony structure braves.

Within the walls, whist buildings, tall... outside the City, dunes...
they mime a soon forgotten tale, once written, carved in runes
on broken skies, like halos hung, reflections of the moon's.

Though churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise
the City's now a sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews -
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues.

A church's Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below,
and blowing there above the bones, a maiden's blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts and catacombs grace halos still aglow.

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The Battle of Reading Rock

'Before you go, I'll have you know,
that the Lord has said to me
Psalm 91, is just the one,
so read it and you will see.'
'I don't know why', was my reply,
'But Sarah I'm sure you're right'
And off I went, to pitch my tent,
at Reading's Rock Festival site.


It was not clear, how apt and dear,
that Psalm was going to be
until that night, at the festival site,
when Dave was accompanying me.
For God was there, and by His care,
we depended upon His word.
We made our stand, in Satan's land,
and were protected by the Lord.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Courtship of Miles Standish, The

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Courtship of Miles Standish

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,

[...] Read more

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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment

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Psalm 37:24

"Though he may stumble
he will not fall, for the LORD
upholds him with His firm hand."

Psalm 37:24 New International Version (NIV)

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Third Heaven

'For as the heaven
is high above the earth
so great is his mercy
toward them
that feared him'.

Psalm 103: 11

Winged creatures, glistered by glory,
snapped him from the peak of the earth.
Consigned to heaven:
The elders en masse, in white robes sang:
Hallelujah! hallelujah! hallelujah to the King!

'The heaven, even the heavens,
are the Lord's:
But the earth hath he given
to the children of men'.

Psalm 115: 6

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Fresh Fruits of the Spirit - Joy

Joy

“But let all those who take refuge and put their trust in You rejoice; let them ever sing and shout for joy,
because You make a covering over them and defend them;
let those also who live Your name be joyful
in You and be in high spirits.”
Psalm 5: 11, AMP

Dear Lord,
You also wrote through the Psalmist that… “weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30: 5, amp

Sorrow takes so much energy, Lord that it feels like
I will never have joy again. Perhaps a little of Your “high-octane additive” will help.
Please add enough super-charged joy to my tank today to
jump start my life again. And even when problems arise like dark clouds;
low and threatening,
help me to look for joy in spite of the dumpster-diving, roller coaster emotions that swirl around me. I am grateful that You reign… and I will hold You to your promise that joy will
come again, in the morning.
Amen.

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Poem: Teach Me to Pray

Lord, create in me a clean heart
and teach me how to pray.
Sow your righteousness into me;
keep my soul from going astray.

Allow me to tap into Your spiritual strength.
Open my ears – to the words, You now say!
Quench this inner longing of human desire;
help me to obey Your commands without delay.

Humbled by Your awesome Presence
and reminded of my frail vulnerability,
I bring myself before You for correction.
Discipline this child with righteous dignity.

Open the eyes of my spirit
and give my mouth the words to speak.
Focus my attention on important matters –
So I’m in alignment with the solutions You seek.

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