There are those whose stories
Are etched on their bodies;
It’s in every untimely wrinkle,
Each inexplicably heavy sigh;
The weight of each step,
The unconscious stoop,
The wary glance,
The weary countenance,
The shallow smile.
What is there to glean from this realm?
What sense and direction is inherent in this plane;
Where the air gets cloggier by the day,
And morals blurrier by the hour;
Where so much is known, but very little is used or understood?
Really, what are we doing,
Sacrificing long-term health for short-term convenience and luxury?
So, what if I have fallen?
I will rise again as long as He accepts me;
I will not give up,
No matter how battered I become!
Of these I am sure:
That the Lord is my shepherd;
That His Spirit keeps my heart pure;
That by His Grace, my cries are always heard.
In the presence of the Lord is fullness of joy;
Indeed, in His house we find gladness and liberty;
We gather before the throne of the Almighty;
And bow in worship, not in shame to our Liberator;
With purpose, and the aim to glorify the Creator.
My Pride is He who hears me when I cry in distress;
Reaches out His hand to pull me from this sea of misery;
Cleanses me of iniquity with His blood;
Calls me His own and makes me His heir.