November 9, 2019
Gray
I’m weary of these clouds that will not rain,
That loom and doom to amplify my pain.
I long to feel the sun’s warmth on my face,
To glimpse the rays that turn the gray to grace.
Even the night is better than this hazy ache,
For darkness brings assurance of daybreak.
But where’s the promise that this fog will cease?
Where is the healing rain that brings release?
When clouds will not disperse, I must ascend
On wings of prayer my downcast soul to mend.
The throne of heaven brooks no shades of gray,
And plaintive souls are never turned away
From the presence of the Lamb in robes of white.
The Fount of Life, in whose light we see only light.
Copyright © 2019 by Teresa Roberts Johnson (All rights reserved)
Psalm 36:5-9 (KJV)
5 Thy mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens; and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds.
6 Thy righteousness is like the great mountains; thy judgments are a great deep: O Lord, thou preservest man and beast.
7 How excellent is thy lovingkindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.
8 They shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy house; and thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures.
9 For with thee is the fountain of life: in thy light shall we see light.
Angliverse 