Posts Tagged ‘trouble’


*See note below the poem after reading it.

2 We shall not fear though earth should shake and shift,
And though the mountains slide into the sea.
3 The waves may foam and stars, of sudden, drift,
5 But we shall dwell immoveable and free.

6 The kingdoms totter and the nations roar;
9 The bow and spear advance with chariots.
7 But we shall be secure forevermore,
E’en if we had no walls and lived in huts.

4 The city of God’s dwelling place is fed
By waters from His river flowing pure.
8 He rains just desolations on the head
Of sinful men, but makes our safety sure.

1 God is our refuge, strength, to whom we plead;
A very present help in time of need.


I’ve written all of Psalms and Proverbs in poetry that rhymes and has rhythm.  The book will be available at Amazon before Christmas.  If you’re interested (and have not already said so),  let me know in the comments.


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.


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From naked stones of agony
I will build a house for me;
As a mason all alone
I will raise it, stone by stone,
And every stone where I have bled
Will show a sign of dusky red.
I have not gone the way in vain,
For I have good of all my pain;
My spirit’s quiet house will be
Built of naked stones I trod
On roads where I lost sight of God.


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The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The yellow flame’s flicker is weak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The toil of the day takes its toll and it wracks
The candle and man till life’s bleak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

The slope of sleep’s soothing sweet tunnel attracts,
Though Day clutches man with its beak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The cares of tomorrow add to the mind’s tax.
One wrestles, it seems, for a week.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

Oh! for a pinch to the flame to relax
The light-load; bring rest that we seek!
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The sandman has tried, but his sand supply lacks.
The sheep flock? – the worry wolves wreak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.


photo by Camilla Hviid at


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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……………..I’ve Had My Share


I’ve had my share of trouble – death and woe

(Perhaps it never came like blizzard’s snow),

But I would wake at times to find ground white:

A blanket, even drifts, fell in the night.

When trouble came, a broom or shovel met

The need I had to keep my pathway yet.

So daily, if it fell, I had to cope

To keep on going and not lose my hope.

I take the whole: I think my life is grand;

I persevere, the wind and woe withstand,

And what once seemed to be a moment drear

Just melts away midst all the joy and cheer.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.



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When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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When trouble tills our garden with a woe
And rakes to rubbled ruin this earthly life,
It gives us no escape, no place to go,
And never asks permission for the strife.

The hand we’re dealt is never shuffled o’er;
The cards, when black, are still our cards to play.
They fall upon us till the light’s no more,
And in our blackened days we have no say.

Like Job, we’re urged to curse our God and die
For that which came our way without our will.
But greater than the greatest blight or cry,
There is a more important choice still –

Not in the bearing that which we endure,
But if we bear for God, remaining pure.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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