Brookside (Ps 110)
He squats with purpose and cups his hands
While all around his army stands.
Elbows on knees they pant for air—
The pursuit now halted—they wait and stare.
This king, with grit and strength and joy,
Gathered their band to undo and destroy
The works of pain the enemy planned—
That was their cause; though undermanned
They rallied together on the plains of war.
Not soldiers, just pilgrims, assembled before
This priest, the LORD, the ruler of Zion—
Messiah! the Judge! And David’s own scion!
Brookside he drinks, fresh from the field.
Vict’ry assured, the chase He’ll not yield
But for a breather, out of the sun.
Refreshed, he smiles, and tells them: “Well done.”