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My bones lie now atop
and about my
someday grave,
Knowing soon enough
they will sleep
six feet under.
But while they can still
walk upright and
carry forth
Through the dark yard
of no more, set
my soul aright.
I cry out from the clench
of evil's wily
hands,
I lift mine high in the
sky,
begging for both
of Yours.
May Your righteousness
strike the dark
with thunder
What's not right with me
in my deepest
innermost part.
When time plows up
these grounds and
scatters all bones,
May mine no more be at
repose beneath
this dying earth,
But made anew with
forever eyes cast
upon You,
And hands still raised
but now even higher
in hallowed air.
Psalm 141 |
