THE WORKS OF GOOD

Meaning in Psalm 107

Alfred D. Byrd

THINKING of God should make us give thanks
For all of the works of good for us.
The ones who've fallen, foundered in grief,
And scattered across a world gone wrong
Have met with rescue from hands on high
And been joined as one to praise our God.

A DESERT is what the world has been
For many who wander, seeking a home,
A place of rest — a place of purpose.
Hungry and thirsty, they lose their heart
Until they cry to their God for help.
Our God delivers the ones who pray
In the name of the One Whose will is true.
Our God delivers the lost from grief
And leads them safely to reach a goal,
A city of light that comes from God.
Let's thank our God for works of love
That fill with hope each soul that hungers.

REBELS against the teaching of God
Have found in darkness shadows of death.
Imprisoned in chains in pits of gloom,
The rebels labor without a goal
And fall at night onto beds of pain.
Alone with shame, the rebels recall
The Name of their God; they cry for help.
Our God delivers the rebels from chains.
From gloom to light, the rebels ascend.
They thank the One Who opens prisons.
Freedom begins with the help of God.

HOW SELFISH we are! We act like fools
When we do our will instead of God's.
What seems to us delightful at first
May turn to sorrow before our eyes.
When we taste the fruit of what we've done,
Our food is ashes, and death draws near.
Amid our sorrow, we think of God.
We seek reprieve, and we find release.
Our God will heal us from shame and pain;
Our God will free our hearts to feel joy.
Let's thank the Maker for works of love,
The wonder of help for lives gone wrong.
Let's give our God unceasing praises.

SAILORS who brave the face of the sea
Have seen the Maker through acts of might.
Our God may speak, and a calm becomes
A gale of fury — nightfall by day!
The sea and the sky are linked as one;
The clouds scud low, the waves are rising —
Mountains and valleys tumble wildly,
Flinging a ship — a thimble, a cork —
From heights to depths without a rudder.
Sailors clinging like limpets to ropes
Are waiting for death, a plunge unchecked
To a bed of stone beneath the waves.
The sailors recall the Name of God
And cry to the King of Storms for help.
The waves subside, and the sky grows clear.
A ship once helpless now makes its port,
And sailors give thanks before a crowd
For what their God, their Savior, has done.

WHEN WE TURN from right to seek what's wrong,
Our God can make a river run dry
And turn a garden to heaps of salt.
When we set our hearts to seek our God,
A desert can bloom, and springs gush forth.
The ones who wander will find a home,
A city of light that comes from God.
They'll plant, and reap a harvest of fruit,
A blessing of life redeemed from death.

RECALL this truth: our God is the King
Of all that is. The King is peerless.
Princes may rise among us and say,
"I have the wisdom to change the world."
They flourish awhile and then depart —
How often in shame too deep for words!
The proud will fall; the humble will rise.
Our God determines the fate of each.
Whoever is wise will seek the Throne
To look on light, the glory of love.

Four hundred years of silence was broken.

The Bible's Hidden Years