Psalm 39
For the director of music. For Jeduthun. A psalm of David.
I said to myself, I'll take heed of my ways,
and not let my tongue sin by things that it says;
I'll bridle my mouth and rein in what they hear,
so long as the wicked and godless are near.
I stood in the stillness — not saying a word,
but there in the silence, my sorrow was stirred.
My heart growing hotter the more that I mused,
igniting a fire of words that I used:
LORD, show me how brief is my time on this earth;
remind me how fleeting and frail my life's worth.
The span of my hand is my time until death;
my lifetime's a moment — at best, but a breath.
All men move like shadows that dance on a wall,
who hustle and bustle in vain till they fall.
They gather their fortune, amassing their haul,
but never know who, after them, spends it all.
So, LORD, where do I put my hope to get through?
My sole expectation and hope is in you.
Deliver me from my transgressions and wrongs;
and don't let the fools taunt or mock me in songs.
I'm silent before you, and won't say a word;
for you are the reason this all has occurred.
Now, please stop this scourge and the strokes that you land,
for I am consumed by the blows of your hand.
For when you rebuke and correct man for sin,
you surely consume what is precious to him;
like moths who destroy the fine garments we wear,
man surely is vapor, a brief puff of air.
O, LORD, hear my prayer and give ear to my cries;
and do not ignore all these tears from my eyes.
For I am a stranger, a guest passing through;
like those gone before me, as they used to do.
Just leave me — allow me to smile like before,
before I depart and exist nevermore.
I said to myself, I'll take heed of my ways,
and not let my tongue sin by things that it says;
I'll bridle my mouth and rein in what they hear,
so long as the wicked and godless are near.
I stood in the stillness — not saying a word,
but there in the silence, my sorrow was stirred.
My heart growing hotter the more that I mused,
igniting a fire of words that I used:
LORD, show me how brief is my time on this earth;
remind me how fleeting and frail my life's worth.
The span of my hand is my time until death;
my lifetime's a moment — at best, but a breath.
All men move like shadows that dance on a wall,
who hustle and bustle in vain till they fall.
They gather their fortune, amassing their haul,
but never know who, after them, spends it all.
So, LORD, where do I put my hope to get through?
My sole expectation and hope is in you.
Deliver me from my transgressions and wrongs;
and don't let the fools taunt or mock me in songs.
I'm silent before you, and won't say a word;
for you are the reason this all has occurred.
Now, please stop this scourge and the strokes that you land,
for I am consumed by the blows of your hand.
For when you rebuke and correct man for sin,
you surely consume what is precious to him;
like moths who destroy the fine garments we wear,
man surely is vapor, a brief puff of air.
O, LORD, hear my prayer and give ear to my cries;
and do not ignore all these tears from my eyes.
For I am a stranger, a guest passing through;
like those gone before me, as they used to do.
Just leave me — allow me to smile like before,
before I depart and exist nevermore.
Writing through the Psalms, as well as the book of Job, there have been times when I struggled with how to handle short verses and long verses without breaking stride. In the past, I've always (usually) written things of uniform length (Psalm 1, being an exception).
Early on in this poem, I decided to do something different and just allow the verse in the Bible dictate the length of my own corresponding verse.
Early on in this poem, I decided to do something different and just allow the verse in the Bible dictate the length of my own corresponding verse.
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