A song of ascents. Of David.
My heart is not proud, LORD,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
Israel, put your hope in the LORD
both now and forevermore.
Like warm water on hard earth...
What ever makes me warmer, kinder, softer, truer. More maleable to His touch.
Those are my pastures.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for your thoughts.