Poetry

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All our days will pass away,
Under Your wrath brings our years;
To an end like a sighing stray,
That reconfirms all our fears.

Seventy years of our life,
By reason the strength of eighty;
Their span of the toil with strife,
As our hair has turned slaty.

But the sorrow shall be soon gone,
At that time when we fly away;
At the coming of the new dawn,
In seeing the eternal day.

Who considers of the power,
About the anger that you fear;
Because we know not the hour,
As well as the month or the year.

So teach us the number of days,
That we get a heart of wisdom;
How to be righteously always,
Prepared to enter His Kingdom.

How long before You will return,
On Your servant have compassion;
In order to help me to learn,
To have a spiritual fashion.

Satisfy us in steadfast love,
To be glad that we may rejoice;
Along with blessings from above,
Bringing rapture to our voice.

Make us glad being afflicted,
Many years as we see evil;
Never to become addicted,
To the exploits of the devil.

Let Your work be shown unto us,
Of all Your glorious power;
Revealing appearance as thus,
Allowing blessings to shower.

Let Your favor and beauty shine,
Establish the work of Your hands;
Endow us to see Your Divine,
Being decreed through Your commands.

Copyright ©2022 Richard Newton Sherrer

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