Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise him . . .
Mosiah. Chapter 14. Verse 10.
When bruises are as common as blackberries on a shrub,
When life has worn me down to nothing more than just a nub.
When sorrow and rejection hang about me like a mist,
I pray I do not see things like a cold proctologist.
If it pleases God to magnify my sorrowed heart;
If He deems it needful to stab me with one more dart;
If I am denied my tender hopes and dreams again --
Still I’ll praise Almighty God with joyful tongue and pen.
The battle tween my pride and faith continues to this day;
Thy will be done, oh Lord -- but please to try it my own way.
I may be black and blue from chance and fate, yet I suspect
That of my lasting martyrdom I am the architect!
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