Poetry

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How precious are His thoughts,
Concerning my welfare;
Guarding from juggernauts,
Vast in number are there.

If I try to count them,
More than the grains of sand;
More than all those condemn,
On the place where they stand.

Whenever I awake,
I am still with the Lord;
He cures me where I ache,
Being in one accord.

I wish that He would kill,
The evil in this place;
Bloodthirsty people still,
Getting into my case.

For they say wicked things,
About me and the Lord;
Within the mind it clings,
That cannot be ignored.

My foes misuse His name,
Taking His name in vain;
Defiling to proclaim,
Distorting in their brain.

Should I hate who despise,
Our Lord from above;
It does not seem so wise,
When you cannot show love.

Should I feel disgusted.
With those who attack God;
They cannot be trusted,
Never showing Him laud.

I hate them in my heart,
They have become my foe;
For I cannot depart,
From what I do not know.

I follow the straight road,
And not the evil path;
To where purity flowed,
And be spared from the wrath.

Copyright © 2017 Richard Newton Sherrer

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