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Remember not former things, Nor consider things of old; For the heartaches that it brings, Consequences that unfold. I am doing a new thing, That springs forth do you not know: As the streams the desert bring, Through the wilderness that flow. The beast of the field honor, The Lord as they go and drink; The one who is a fawner. Will be taking time to think. As His chosen He has formed, That they might declare His praise; When they are cold He has warmed, That they survive all their days. Yet you did not call upon, Rather you have been weary; When you awaken at dawn, Everything seems so dreary. You have brought Him offerings, Sheep as a burnt sacrifice; The burden of sufferings, From temptations that entice. You have not bought Him sweet cane, With the fat to satisfy; All of this has been in vain, The transgressions you deny. He blots out iniquities, You are willing to confess; Blessing you with sanctities, From sin that causes duress. Copyright ©2023 Richard Newton Sherrer Vote for this poem
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