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The Voice of God

by Annie B © 2019

There is a still small voice crying
In the wilderness of our Lord;
Preparing roads in the desert;
A tempting place to take The Word.

The valleys grow into mountains.
The lofty hills will be brought low;
Making straight the crooked places,
Wherever our Jesus will go.

The angels will bring glad praises,
From all the places they will sing;
Proclaiming the year of the Lord
And the soon coming of our King.

As the love of lover’s perish,
And all of man’s works decay;
Bringing mass grief and much sorrow,
Until tomorrow is today.

The mighty Word of God endures,
While the Arm of God is still strong.
On Mount Sinai’s top He will stand,
While His angels sing His glad song.

He’ll tend His flock like a Shepherd,
And hold His Elect to His breast;
While He’ll lead them to green pastures
To give His Own a Sabbath rest.

His Voice crying in the desert
Is calling from the way untrod;
Beckoning souls to the water,
For the repentance to our God.

A wilderness voice still crying
From the desert road He will trod;
God’s death upon the wooden cross
Makes straight way to the Throne of God.

The valley becomes exalted;
Then, the mountains will become low;
Making straight the crooked places,
Wherever God’s Only Son goes.

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This poem was a finalist in the January 2020 poetry contest

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