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Your eyes saw my unformed substance,
In Your book where it was written;
Each of us growing as infants,
Disciplined and had to smitten.
 
Each one of the days that took form,
When as of yet that there was none;
In being fashioned to transform,
Into a daughter or a son.
 
How precious to me is Your thought,
How vast is the amount of them;
Forming me the way You had sought,
With no desire to condemn.
 
They are more than the grains of sand,
If I would ever count them all;
I am still with You where You stand,
You catch me if I trip and fall.
 
Surely You would slay the wicked,
So that men of blood would depart;
Making Your promise so vivid,
Purge those without purified heart.
 
They speak with malicious intent,
Enemies take Your name in vain;
For they merely want to torment,
Persecuting the righteous with pain.
 
I hate not those who hate You,
I do not loathe those who defy;
I merely tell them what is true,
Though they continue to deny.
 
I hate them with complete hatred,
I count them as my enemies;
They honor not what is sacred,
Only having animosities.
 
Search me O God and know my heart,
Try me and know of all my thoughts;
Your Word I constantly impart,
Not deterred by evil onslaughts.
 
See if there is a grievous way,
That would lead me down the dark path;
Any wickedness that I would stray,
If found spare me not from your wrath.

Copyright © 2021 Richard Newton Sherrer




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