David had to learn, Lyre's made of wood,
Doesn't matter who is there to lend an ear,
A well-sung Psalm does little good,
If King has a headache, and a spear.
Davids Way to Jesus
By Arley Steinhour 071012
I woke up, this morning, with 'Dear Jesus, How-de-do,'
Flowing from my lips, to lift the rafters,
Wanted him to hear me, as if praise, from me, and you,
Having played the book of Psalms, many chapters.
David, did a 'Selah,' when he had to catch his breath,
Or ponder hard upon the words he uttered,
Often times his words sounded, as if scared to death,
Except, those of Faith in God, which never stuttered.
Much that David sang, was filled with Prophecy,
Relating to the time God walked with man,
Especially words God cried, in deep despondency,
Paying death-price for our Sin, as we never can.
Psalms sung open hearted, praising God on High,
Written in David's youth, as he tended fathers sheep,
Speaking Praise to God, softly voicing to the sky,
Intensity of praising, would keep his eye from sleep.
Some, on rare occasion, had great urgency to cry,
When, as King, David erred, or went astray,
The enemy, without, within, stacked would reach the sky.
Once, Absalom even made David run away.
Soon, God's words will fill our hearts, completely to overflow,
Spending Eternity with Him, we'll be always on the job,
Eternal day, to Praise, Work, and Play, on the go,
All things perfect, Satan gone, no more souls to rob.
Enjoy the way that David prayed, we'll all be good at that,
Praise, like Manna, no measure, too much or little, not known,
Youth, vigor, and strength, Praise sung without a note's flat,
After Judgment, Things and People, Full-Grown.