God, you are my God. I celebrate you. I praise you. You’ve done your share of miracle-wonders, well-thought-out plans, solid and sure. Here you’ve reduced the city to rubble, the strong city to a pile of stones. The enemy Big City is a non-city, never to be a city again. Superpowers will see it and honor you, brutal oppressors bow in worshipful reverence. They’ll see that you take care of the poor, that you take care of poor people in trouble, provide a warm, dry place in bad weather, provide a cool place when it’s hot. Brutal oppressors are like a winter blizzard and vicious foreigners like high noon in the desert. But you, shelter from the storm and shade from the sun, shut the mouths of the big-mouthed bullies.
Isaiah 25:1 (MSG)
Psalm 22:27-28: “All the ends of the world shall remember and turn to the Lord, and all the kindreds of the nations shall worship before thee. For the kingdom is the Lord's, and he ruleth among the nations.”
3 comments:
Not sure I understand this one; but I do praise God.
And I thank Him for saving me!
Linda, here's the King James translation: "O Lord, thou art my God; I will exalt thee, I will praise thy name; for thou hast done wonderful things; thy counsels of old are faithfulness and truth."
Ah. Okay. Thank you for the clarification, Reverend.
Post a Comment