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By Peter O
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Grace is an eversinging harp
Playing from Your Everliving Land --
Your Kingdom.

Gentle cords,
Sweet strings,
Powerful: able to
Bring tears of joy
To eyes long dry.

The wood of Calvary
Frames the harp; it shapes
A plaintive tone, one mournful,
Sorrowful and melancholic  --
The wondrous hymn of the Love-Sacrifice.

The sun-grave of His Rising
Strings the harp; they
Play a music that silenced death -- cords
Refreshing and healing and saving.


Open my ears to hear songs of grace --
Guiding and protecting and comforting;

Open my ears to hear songs of grace
Bringing me closer and closer and closer

To Your Everliving Kingdom.

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Submitted: Saturday, March 17, 2012

Last Updated: Saturday, March 17, 2012

About the Poet
I am 79 years of age. For the past nine years I have been retired, after forty years, from the field of alcoholism and drug abuse in New York City. I am married and we have two grown sons and two grand-sons. My life changed through a grace-experience in 1967. Writing Christian prayers is a particular interest of mine. This came about by a growing awareness of the spiritual in recovery from addictions. I choose, intellectually and emotionally, to believe the Triune God of the Sared Scriptures as my Healer.

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