My rock is the Ancient of days most high
On Heaven’s great power I do rely
Day and night I do respond to the voice
Constantly confronted with every choice
There can be only one that is supreme
That voice is the WORD who is a bright beam
As the thirst of a deer that has just run
My throat is dry from a course just begun
With eager countenance my mouth is dry
Praising you the one on whom I rely
My tears have sustained me all day and night
Surly Heaven has heard my mourning plight
My pain I will turn into praise on high
Held in eternity never to die
Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.
(Psalms 42:11 KJV)
Copyright © 2006, 2011 Thomas C. Blake
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