[i]It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning;
Oh my soul ...
Is thankful
That You have
Returned to it
Grieving
To tear-less
Intercession
So it seemed good
In Your sight
To stop these
At the borders
Thus far
And no further
"[i]Oh [u]that
and mine eyes a fountain of tears,
that I might weep day and night
for the slain of the daughter of my people!
Said Jeremiah
And may it be as similar
In those days
That You disallowed
Ezekiel;
[i] ye shall not mourn nor weep;
but ye shall pine away
for your iniquities,
and mourn one toward another.
A fountain - Rather,
“a reservoir,”
in which tears had been stored up,
so that the prophet might weep abundantly.
Said another.
And the storehouse,
The reservoir full
Fed by the inlet
The inward tears
And groanings
For an end
For the completion
For the cleansing
Of sin from the earth
The great wound
Of healing
For a pure
People
Though the river
Ran dry
And the prayers
Turned to leaning
On the foolish
On what was known
And not on knowing
Reliance of
A shaky confidence
But not
On Thee
Oh what miserable
Creatures
We truly are
To displace
And replace
To rest on
Our laurels
A faulty foundation
The plank
Of presumption
Strikes the accuser
As much as
The reproached
[i]If we say...
How tremendous
And devastating
For we say much
Far too much
Oft times
A multiplicity
Of words
And little
Counsel
They fall
To the ground
Without
Sound
Cold, hard,
Facts
Bereft of Your Spirit
Careless consideration
And prideful assumption
Displaced motivation
And unruly anger
Indignation is
Honorable
If it be
Unmixed
With human
Compulsion
All else
Pride
Haughty
Insoluble
Arrogance
Mingled with
Ignorance
A lifting
Of the head
Or a bowing
Of false
Humility
Thou knowest
Thou seest
Ah, but You
My God
Are a terror
And a comfort
Giving the
Sweetness
Of repentance
And unspeakable
Mercy
My folly
Had turned away
Your face
In anger
How right
And just
You are!
Your chastising
Desired
Better
Than all
The earths
Riches
Woe to be
Left
Without
For whom
The Lord loveth
He chasteneth,
And scourgeth
Every son
Whom he
receiveth.
And gracious
Are Thee
To restore
The heart
To mourning
As it was
Before
Thy silence
Is precious
And
The groanings
Unutterable
Are
Bittersweet
And a comfort
For without them
Is not the Spirit
And if not
Thy Spirit
Nothing
So I rejoice
In suffering
And am content
In weakness
For then
I know
You
Are there
And are
Present
Ah Lord
How we presume!
Upon Thy
Goodness
Contrite
And
Humble
Such precious
Commodity
Can we not
See it?
That we are
Not
Consumed
In Your anger
And our blood
Is not drunk
With Thy arrows
A brood of rebels
And independents
Gone astray
With all our
Knowledge
Knowing
Well knowing
The proclivities
And the straying
Without excuse
In honesty
And yet ...
When we have
Fallen
Stumbled
Recognize
Nay, anticipate
Justice
And punishment
Deserving
And we again
Turn
We find ...
A welcome
And
Forgiveness
Oh! It stops
The mouth
From boasting
Ah, my soul ...
So it seems
That the
Tears
Will remain
Bottled
And
The reservoir
Brimming
So it was
Good
In Your sight
And it seems
That one day
The damn
Will burst
And death
By drowning
May it be so
A pleasant sorrow