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Cursed is the man who trusts in man, While making flesh his strength; Turning away from the Lord’s plan, Distantly straying at a length. He has been like a tumbleweed, And shall not see anything good; Buries himself just like a seed, In the wilderness under wood. Bless the man who trusts in the Lord, For the Lord is his only hope; While walking in one accord, And when stressful able to cope. He is like a tree by water, Sending out its roots to the stream; And bearing fruit through his daughter, To whom the Lord who did redeem. He does not fear of coming heat, As his leaves are remaining green; The fruit ripens and tasting sweet, Freshest fruit you have ever seen. The deceitful heart above all, Which can be desperately sick; The wicked eventually fall, But over time and not that quick. The Lord searches the heart and mind, To give each man as to his ways; The fruit of his deeds are aligned, To follow the Lord all his days. Like a partridge gathers a brood, To get riches not by justice; With a spiritual attitude, Following in the Lord’s practice. A glorious high throne from the start, Inside our sanctuary; Being implanted in your heart, That stops you having to wary. The hope of all who would forsake, That you shall find be put to shame; Those who turn away that shall make, Easily for you to proclaim. Those who would turn away from you, Shall be written into the earth; The living water will renew, That is giving you a rebirth. Copyright © 2020 Richard Newton Sherrer Vote for this poem
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