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The Promise Land Let me struggle a while longer. Let the gentle mending healing tears still freely flow. Let the still unseen and yonder golden hilltop mightly beckon. It's rocky slippery slopes still bring me so much grief and so much woe. But my Guide and my Glorious Master, He still draws me...gently leading... and raising me from the miry clay. And when I finally reach the joyous hilltop. It's golden stones won't match the glory that I'll behold that very Day. (c) Jacob Samorodin The Songs of Praise Quiet!!! The sounds I hear...so delicate in this glade. As I behold His glorious verdant handiwork... Tis the song I hear, praising Him, from whom they're made. The sound of whispered chorus, windy fingers moving gently as it please... Here the deeply moving choral sound of nature's harmony. A symphony of praise, of rustling branch and top of trees. Praise Him, glade and meadow! Praise Him, all ye trees!... Praise Him, hill and dale!...Praise Him, babbling brook, all skies, the mountains and the seas... (c) Jacob Samorodin |
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