Lift My Eyes

A riff on Psalm 121:

I lift my eyes to the hills—
Where will I find my help?
Is it in racking up my kills,
Is it in mortar shells?

No, I will not rely
on gun or sword or stone.
Though fighter jets dissect the sky,
my help is God alone.

You stand upon the heights
to scout my every move;
though you may have me in your sights,
God has me in his love.

I crawl as low, as deep
as mountain peaks are high:
The God who watches will not sleep,
and will not shut his eyes.

The sunlight will not strike,
nor yet the light of the moon.
Your bullets will be turned aside—
or I will meet them soon,

and it will be my blood
that stains the place I stand.
And on the hills or in the mud,
we both are in his hand.

Even if I should die,
I will not strike you down.
But even so, I lift my eyes:
The hills can't help me now.

Albert Bierstadt – Among the Sierra Nevada, California – Google Art Project – IQE1CY9y_Rfy5A — Google Arts & Culture, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22007259

Psalm 87: In Zion

Riffing on Psalm 87:

All our wells rise up in Zion,
flowing outward east and west
from the dwelling of the High One
to the seas that never rest.
Though we wander hill and valley,
to the end we come as one
when our days are filled and tallied,
when the river's course is run.

All our sources rise in Zion,
flowing outward north and south
from the throne of God almighty,
circling all the earth about.
Though we're borne on ceaseless currents
toward a sea we've never known,
yet our hearts have this convergence,
each one searching for a home.

As we rose at first in Zion,
there at last we'll find our rest—
heaven's glory unifying
north and south and east and west.
Let no name go unremembered
in her register of souls:
Every one of us was born there;
there at last we will be whole.

Zion (1903), Ephraim Moses Lilien (1874-1925) – Lieder des Ghetto (Book – 1903) of Morris Rosenfeld; translation from yiddish to german by Berthold Feiwel;, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18991414

Kings of Earth

Riffing on Psalm 33:

Kings of earth call up their armies;
warriors sharpen spear and sword.
God moves earth and sea, disarming;
empires fall before the Lord.

Let the heart still hold its secrets;
let the plotting mind still plan.
God who made them holds their seasons;
they shall not extend their span.

Human strength avails us nothing:
Chariots sink into the sea;
weapons crumble, scarred and rusted;
all our tow'rs shall toppled be.

What will last? The stars o'erreaching.
What goes on? The ocean waves.
What stands firm? The earth beneath us,
while our mortal dust decays.

Even these shall cease their turning,
falling into entropy,
yet shall God in endless mercy
make his children still to be.

Kings and princes plot their vengeance
sinking in oblivion.
Still in God our hope is endless:
Mercy flows forever on.

Discarded and Forgotten, in DüsseldorfBy marsupium photography – https://www.flickr.com/photos/hagdorned/9291943561/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=57468833

Psalm 139: Too Great For Me

Based on Psalm 139:

You saw me in the darkness
within my mother's womb;
in every hope and heartache
I have been known to you.
I flee you and I fight you;
I turn from you in shame,
but I cannot deny you,
and still you call my name.

In rising and in sinking,
in falling, there to lie,
all that I long have hidden
is here before your eye.
My secrets and my shadows
to you are bright as day,
and all I long to ask you,
you know before I say.

When I would shrink in terror
there's courage that you give,
who know me in my failure—
You know, and you forgive.
And still you call, O Father;
beside me still you stand.
Too great for me, this knowledge,
that I am in your hand.

More details

Coro alto, Sé de Braga Portugal. Photo By Joseolgon – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=72225140

The Canyon

At midnight, stars reflected in the river,
'til one got up and shot across the sky.
Another angel falling out of heaven?
No: firefly.

The crickets filled the stillness with their chorus;
a riverbank of frogs is counterpoint
as night lays out its wonders all before us.
The dark anoints

'til pale cliffs catch the light of early morning
and conqu'ring dawn surmounts the hillside's pow'r.
A herald birdsong greets the day a-borning:
the bright'ning hour.

And then the river gleams back at the glory:
Deep calls to deep, and blue proclaims to blue,
and not a word is lost of all their story
who call to you.

Between the river and the light of heaven,
the canyon's arms encircle all the world.
An element of this, I feel it given
and praise you, Lord.

Sumidero Canyon, Mexico By Sgroey – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=117035720

Broken World

Riffing on Psalm 46:

The waters rage and riot;
their rampage fills the sky,
and all we know of quiet
is but the cyclone's eye.
The mountains quake in terror—
then how shall we not fear?
Our broken world's repairer,
why do you not draw near?

And if we have offended,
done evil in your sight,
oh, can it not be mended?
Can nothing be put right?
Remember, Lord, the deluge,
your promise to all things:
Come make for us a refuge
beneath your outspread wings.

Come fill our thirst and hunger;
lift up the lost and poor,
then work a greater wonder
and still the rage of war.
Our strength and our salvation,
our rescue in distress,
though mountain fall and nation,
draw near, draw near to us.