Ballad based on Psalm 2
Why do nations rage in vain?
Plots of men, a futile strain,
Kings and rulers rise again,
In disdain.
Against the Lord they take their stand,
And His Anointed they withstand,
“Let us break their chains,” they cry,
By hand.
He who sits in heaven laughs,
In His wrath, He speaks at last,
Terrifies them in His ire,
His grasp.
“I’ve set My King on Zion's hill,
On My holy mount, fulfill,
You are My Son,” declares the Lord,
His will.
“Ask of Me, and I will make,
Nations yours for you to take,
Ends of earth your own to break,
And shake.”
With an iron rod, you’ll lead,
Shatter them like pottery,
Now, O kings, be wise, take heed,
And plead.
Serve the Lord with fear, rejoice,
Kiss the Son, make Him your choice,
Lest He be angry, you’ll perish,
His voice.
Blessed are those who trust in Him,
Taking refuge, life within,
In His care, through thick and thin,
They win.
They win.