As we sit in the pews do we think of our virtues as some do, uttering phrases of piety that defy the Deity, who say keep to yourself do not come near me for I am holier than you.
The oboe plays a sorrowful tune the rhythm of the harp is not melodious, the furrow is an odious melody played to our Deity as a fire that burns all the day when we worship that way.
Provoke me not to anger, continually to My face, for I have stretched out My hands for the cause of your arrogance, do not fall in disgrace.
Retune your instruments with the fragrance of grace; revel in a cup of new wine to Him who is divine, for He has said, `Here I am, here I am, ' to a nation not called by His name.
One note of an instrument will not define a song if played alone, but if joined in harmony with other notes plays a heavenly melody that is void of argument while we lay prone.
You are My disciples let it be known, for the love you show to one another with kindness and joy to that end we must employ.
All are equal one in the same because you are to be servants, a melodious tune in one accord, and a choir of perfection to share in our Lord's affection because when He called we became one, as He and Father are the same.
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Comments about this poem (Arrogant Piousness by Terrance Tracy )
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