Bruce Johnson Poems

Like streams in the desert and wells in the waste,
A river flows out from the Lord's holy place,
With comfort and strength for the weak and oppressed.
The wounded are healed and the weary find rest!
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He was in very nature God,
arrayed with awesome majesty and glory.
Heav'n rendered him unending laud;
the seraphs cried out 'Holy! Holy! Holy! '
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I wandered in the desert waste,
lost and all alone,
Searching for a resting place,
longing for a home.
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Dear Father, no pretenses
can hide our hearts from you:
You know all our offenses
and what we fail to do.
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O help us, dear Jesus!
We need you today,
And you're our only hope for tomorrow
For you count all our tears
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As for me and my house we will serve the Lord;
It is he who has right to the throne.
So we'll cast down our idols and serve them no more;
We will worship the Lord God alone.
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Breaking down the walls!
He is breaking down the walls
built by hatred and pride—
Thick walls that divide
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Behold the hands, the mighty hands,
of our Creator, God Most High.
The hands that set the earth in space
and fashion stars to fill the sky;
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Shake, O earth! And mountains tremble
at the Lord's great judgment day:
Lofty things will all be humbled,
every idol swept away.
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