Psalm 5

47

Give ears to my words, O Lord, that I may be healed
Consider it my meditation
Of a poetry without end
Hearken unto the voice of my silent cry, my Sovereign King,
For unto thee I will pray, quietly
My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Diamond Lord;
In the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up
To the vigilant Sun of my few days on Earth
For thou art not a God that hath pleasure in harshness and disdain
Neither shall I dwell upon my ills or misfortunes.
The foolish miss thy sight with petty thoughts
They shall destroy themselves with their negativity
The Lord will abhor the warlike and deceitful mockers
That hoard and do not ask questions of laughter
But as for me, I will come into thy house with shining eyes
Full with the mercy and compassion of the wretched
And in thy fear of all ruin shall I worship a higher way
Towards a holy temple by thy feet
Lead me, O Lord, where I my own worst enemy
Make my path straight before my face.
Let me be silent until my wickedness does melt;
For my tongue should be a healing grace
For my heart should spread some vibrant joy
And my soul a shield to men pass an eternal flame.

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