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The Lord has forsaken me,
And my Lord has forgotten;
So where could He ever be,
I have been feeling rotten.
Can women forget to nurse,
A child comes from her womb;
Compassion being a curse,
To bury them in a tomb.
For on the palms of my hands,
Like walls always before me;
Are engraved with Your commands,
So I can constantly see.
Your builders are making haste,
As well as your destroyers;
Those who have tried to lay waste,
Are the unrighteous voyeurs.
Lift up Your eyes as to see,
They all gather come to You;
For following of your decree,
Because knowing that is true.
For Your desolate places,
The waste of devastated land;
Anyone who disgraces,
Are swallowed by sinking sand.
The children of bereavement,
Shall be saying in Your ears;
Praising of Your achievement,
Because of all of their fears.
Then You can say in Your heart,
Who has begotten me these;
Captive children who impart,
The Word that flows like the breeze.
Copyright © 2021 Richard Newton Sherrer
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Servant of the LORD
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