Cursed is the man who trusts in man,
And makes his flesh as his own might;
Whose heart turns away from the plan,
That the Lord guided toward the light.
He is like a shrub in desert,
And sees not anything as good;
The tumbleweed cannot divert,
As the wind directs where it stood.
He inhabits in parched places,
Dwellings in abandoned salt land;
Far from God and His good graces,
Not concerned about His demand.
Bless to the man who trusts the Lord,
Is in the Lord he puts His trust;
And remains with in one accord,
While avoiding any lust.
Like a tree planted by a stream,
Sending out its roots far and deep;
Does not fear from the heat would seem,
To increase as summer does creep.
Because all its leaves remain green,
No fear of drought because its roots;
For by autumn it has been seen,
The ripen and abundant fruits.
The heart is deceitful of all,
Desperately sick deep inside;
That causes a person to fall,
And is filled with corrupted pride.
The Lord searches the heart and mind,
Giving man according his ways;
For the fruit of his deeds to find,
Giving comfort for all those days.
The partridge that gathers a brood,
That she has not started to hatch;
She remains in good attitude,
As she awaits for the full batch.
A glorious throne set on high,
Our sanctuary we face;
From the beginning that we cry,
Unto the Lord for His embrace.
Let those be shamed who persecute,
Rather than I be put to shame;
It is for God in my pursuit,
As I continue to proclaim.
Copyright © 2019 Richard Newton Sherrer
Vote for this poem