Somewhere between completion of our rescue

Performed by God Most High in humble frame

And Josue warrior prophet smiting jealous genocide

There rests The Psalms

Come a long way although not come to Comforter

From Yahweh and his terrible swift sword

Yet halfway up the staircase towards the greater loft

Where Sanctity

In sweetness swells fair golden songs as alms

Thronged abject round a throne do loudly gladly sound

A perfect worship paraphrasing solving peace

A Prince of Glory gave us

These Psalms perform their alms for us much roughly

Declare their maze of beauties amongst torrid thorns

Fitted to prick the slick inflated over-estimation

Of our so prideful selves

Like as a bear-trap the language snaps at enmities

Throws them on God; speaks out bruising his Name

Sufferings of peoples no respite requites, contains

Draws Israel’s agonies

In hymning, like a tooth, long, niggling, battle broken

Need nothing ask who neighbour was unto the man

Conflicted, tried, their thresholds bitter overridden

No soul should bear it

Griefs percolate their blemish to occlude unsullied God

Aspersed are crude contaminants; they infuse his matchless pattern

Like blocks knocked, beating-down devotions, common readers twist

Turned squirming fingers

Fractured all rapture, fragments of concentration,

Haul to a former land where cruelties brutal-normal hold

Prevailing, and The Christ and cross as yet abeyant

Unspoken to mankind

A ready reader feels, considers salient sensibly

These other times, a company a dispensation short

A dark and proto-world was wanting, incomplete;

And he sighs sweet

But piteous smile, and thankful, understands

Takes up again The Testament into a firmer hand

Largesse of hindsight serves us all like godlike grace,

Assures us, settles, at rest

Lowly, these ancient lyricists? Not so, tremendous state

Astounds and humbles humdrum current comfortable shoes;

Their fortitudes, their continent remonstrance,

Our clerihews

Betray, portray a something disconnected warrants

Forms in our heads cartoons of perjured choric variation

On country garden pastorals and England’s pleasant land

Euphoria

What could we sing of songs in desolation’s sorrows

And put reserve on appetite, that we got of God

Revenges; not ourselves gone out remorseless recklessly

Chainsaws in hand?

Our roar and claw is law even in harvest homes

Outsider aliens for our licensed game

Holy these Israelites withstood withheld their chagrins

Upheld their names

And whereupon I marvel, turn to marble with perplex

A harassed local tribe held not reflex commander

Laid down their contumelies by Heaven’s windows

Among their prayers

Our dowers are those four gospels and a wad of letters

Redacting they succeed attrition’s red-hand violent need

Ah, would redact for us also, these succoured aftertimes

To a happy place

No-more we would go backwards, creeping stealthily,

Careful against a sentinel or couthless giveaway

A fright might spark a fury, amputate the night-

Time silent peace

Burst-out all hell with Sargon’s pleasant brawny crowd

Come down upon us in sleep, with starveling laughing swords

Comforts corrode us lest we seek their eases seasonably

Gearing to fare aware

In incidents and instinct daily attitudes

Here greater than David, Solomon, is son and heir,

Bears all our griefs, is humbled by our silly stripes;

Thus this declare:

Amen. Amen. The Earth and all upon it is the Lord’s

Let us beware therefore returning the first stone]