Poetry

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There has been a river whose streams,
Make glad the city of God;
Holy habitation that seems,
Of the Most High that we laud.

God is in the midst of her,
As He helps when morning dawns;
She will not be moved to stir,
Awakes right early and yawns.

Nations rage as they utter,
As the Lord utters His voice;
Earth melts as kingdoms totter,
The heathen will have no choice.

But the Lord of Hosts is here,
God of Jacob a fortress;
A refuge having no fear,
Not feeling any distress.

Behold the Works of the Lord,
Brought desolation on earth;
That so many had ignored,
As the pain had brought new birth.

God makes wars finally end,
He breaks bows shatters the spear;
Burning the tanks suspend,
As the Savior does appear.

Be still and know He is God,
And exalted on the earth;
Every knee to bow to laud,
And witnessing a new birth.

The Lord of Hosts is with us,
God of Jacob a refuge;
For He is our fortress,
Shields us from evil deluge.

Copyright © 2025 Richard Newton Sherrer

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