Wednesday, March 3, 2021

I remember the days of old; I meditate on all thy works; I muse on the work of thy hands.

 



I meditate on all thy works,

O Lord of Night and Day;

thy mighty hands have formed my soul

like supple potter's clay.

Remember not my frailties 

and follies, Lord of hosts:

Forgive my idle reveries

that turn to pompous boasts!



No comments:

Post a Comment