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求你不叫我的心偏向邪惡,以致我和作孽的人同行惡事;也不叫我吃他們的美食。 4 Let not my heart be drawn to what is evil, to take part in wicked deeds with men who are evildoers; let me not eat of their delicacies.
任憑義人擊打我,這算為仁慈;任憑他責備我,這算為頭上的膏油;我的頭不要躲閃。正在他們行惡的時候,我仍要祈禱。 5 Let a righteous man 141:5 Or ((Let the Righteous One)) strike me--it is a kindness; let him rebuke me--it is oil on my head. My head will not refuse it. Yet my prayer is ever against the deeds of evildoers;
我們的骨頭散在墓旁,好像人耕田、刨地的土塊。 7 (They will say,) 「As one plows and breaks up the earth, so our bones have been scattered at the mouth of the grave.」 141:7 Hebrew ((Sheol))
May 4 "He maketh sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth and his hands make whole." (Job 5:18.) The ministry of a great sorrow. AS we pass beneath the hills which have been shaken by the earthquake and torn by convulsion, we find that periods of perfect repose succeed those of destruction. The pools of calm water lie clear beneath their fallen rocks, the water lilies gleam, and the reeds whisper among the shadows; the village rises again over the forgotten graves, and its church tower, white through the storm twilight, proclaims a renewed appeal to His protection "in whose hand are all the corners of the earth, and the strength of the hills is his also." ─Ruskin. God ploughed one day with an earthquake, And drove His furrows deep! The huddling plains upstarted, The hills were all aleap! But that is the mountains' secret, Age-hidden in their breast; "God's peace is everlasting, Are the dream-words of their rest. He made them the haunts of beauty, The home elect of His grace; He spreadeth His mornings upon them, His sunsets light their face. His winds bring messages to them─ Wild storm-news from the main; They sing it down the valleys In the love-song of the rain. They are nurseries for young rivers, Nests for His flying cloud, Homesteads for new-born races, Masterful, free, and proud. The people of tired cities Come up to their shrines and pray; God freshens again within them, As He passes by all day. And lo, I have caught their secret! The beauty deeper than all! This faith that life's hard moments, When the jarring sorrows befall, Are but God ploughing His mountains; And those mountains yet shall be The source of His grace and freshness, And His peace everlasting to me. -William C. Gannett.