The texture of your voice is a thralled secret.
Did regular rhythms underpin your structures;
Or were words secured by the clasps of rhyme?
The technique is beyond the scope of our imitation;
But the power of your themes excels our inspiration.
Your structure is nothing compared to your concepts,
Scorched in the forge of experience into soul.
Deep calls to deep among your swell of tides;
Light answers light above your sun-soothed lands.
Out of the shepherd, fugitive and warrior
Endurance worked the sweet psalmist of Israel.
And an Israel cored by Zion, the hill of His holiness,
Stretched by your vigour, built from the ramparts and inwards,
Struggled for from God's house outwards, founded
On the promises of God, reaching even to the Euphrates,
Each tributary nation giving gold for the house of God.
You came from the House of Bread,
The luxuriant valley, through the tent
Set for the sun to Saul's pavilion ‑
An Honoured, chilly place.
Soon the sky was your roof again,
Or the dank limestone of Adullam,
Wandering in deserts and mountains,
And in dens and caverns of the earth ‑
Mad in the Philistine's presence,
Priestly in God's tabernacle.
You found Jehovah your fortress
Even into your kingly palace.