Praise #20

A terrible slide

trembling stones

cascade down

the Judgment Slopes

burying us, the innocent too,

beneath the mountain piles

of recompense

Shall we not

rise up fast? and thence?

And how have we not offended Thee,

My Triumphant One?

Stand firm, dear anointed

dust off thy rags

He hath planted in thee

a Son

that thou be not


in shadows

filling in

the daily lapse

with due colors.


Blessed be

Thy perfect messages,

O Lord,

in them I stand.

About Pete Mladineo

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