The Guardian
I look towards the mountains,
To where I can find aid;
For now the sky darkens,
I have become afraid.
My help comes from the Lord,
Maker of Heaven and earth;
I know I am not ignored,
Any requests since birth.
He will not let me fall,
And will not fall asleep;
Always comes when I call,
Calms me if start to weep.
He is my guardian,
His right hand is my shade;
Stops any scorpion,
Is trying to invade.
The sun during the day,
Will not beat down on me;
But the moon lights my way,
At night so I can see.
The Lord guards from evil,
And is guarding my life;
All acts from the devil,
Of the toils and strife.
He guards me as I go,
As well as my return;
Forever He does know,
So I never will burn.
So I look to the hills,
Where my help will come from;
The faith that He instills,
Chases away the glum.
Copyright © 2013 Richard Newton Sherrer
Vote for this poem
The Guardian
|
|
|
|
©2000 - 2022, Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.
Visit My Home Page | Start Your Own Poetry Site | PoetryPoem
[ Control Panel ] [ Today's Poetry - ALL Poets ] [ Search ]
|
|
