Poetry

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To You, O Lord, I cry,
Who I plead for mercy;
Is there a reason why,
That death has a decree.

What profits blood in death,
If I go in the pit;
Will the dust praise my breath,
Declare truth that life quit.

Tell me Your faithfulness,
Be merciful to me;
Because Your fruitfulness,
Please O Lord, hear my plea.

Turn my day to dancing,
And clothe me with gladness;
Like a deer who’s prancing,
Chasing away sadness.

That my glory may sing,
Not silent with my praise;
For the joy that it brings,
Reflects through all my days.

Copyright © 2026 Richard Newton Sherrer

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