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By James Vasquez
Now praise to him, the Lord my Rock,
Who trains my hands for war,
My fingers for their worthy part
Midst battle’s strident roar.
My loving God, my fortress and
My stronghold is he e’er.
My shield and my deliverer,
Providing certain care.
And what is man that you take thought
For him or for his seed?
His days are fleeting, shadow-like,
A breath that shall recede.
Now part the heavens, Lord, come down,
And set each mount ablaze
With but the touch of your right hand,
And fearsome lightening rays.
Thus scatter every foe and grant
Their fate at last befall,
Send forth your arrows in their midst
And rout them one and all.
From high reach forth and rescue me
From waters strong and deep,
From hands of foreigners whose lips
But false assurance keep.
A ten-stringed lyre serves me well,
That music I may sing
Some song anew to you, my God,
For victories shown the king.
Deliver David from the sword
In foreigners’ deft hand,
Whose mouths are filled with falsehood and
That all our youthful sons may be
Like plants well-nurtured and
Our daughters lissome pillars carved,
To grace some palace land.
Provision of each kind shall fill
Our barns and all our sheep
Increasing in fair fields shall
Their flaxen thousands keep.
Our people shall not know again
The breaching of the wall,
Nor shall captivity or cry
Of pain our tribe befall.
Now blest are those who own these truths,
And each in turn will laud,
And blest the people evermore
For whom the Lord is God.
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For more Poems, see our Poetry Archives
from the June 2008 Edition of the Jewish Magazine
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