Psa 74:19
O deliver not the soul of thy turtledove unto the multitude {of the wicked}: forget not the congregation of thy poor for ever.
King James Version
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Connections · 16
Parallel · 16
O my dove, {that art} in the clefts of the rock, in the secret {places} of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet {is} thy voice, and thy countenance {is} comely.
Hearken, my beloved brethren, Hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him? {of the: or, of that}
For the needy shall not alway be forgotten: the expectation of the poor shall {not} perish for ever.
Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves. {harmless: or, simple}
I will also leave in the midst of thee an afflicted and poor people, and they shall trust in the name of the LORD.
Thy congregation hath dwelt therein: thou, O God, hast prepared of thy goodness for the poor.
Though ye have lien among the pots, {yet shall ye be as} the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold.
Behold, thou {art} fair, my love; behold, thou {art} fair; thou {hast} doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair {is} as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead. {that...: or, that eat of, etc}
Who {are} these {that} fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?
He shall judge thy people with righteousness, and thy poor with judgment.
My dove, my undefiled is {but} one; she {is} the {only} one of her mother, she {is} the choice {one} of her that bare her. The daughters saw her, and blessed her; {yea}, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.
Thy congregation hath dwelt therein: thou, O God, hast prepared of thy goodness for the poor.
Though ye have lien among the pots, {yet shall ye be as} the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold.
They break in pieces thy people, O LORD, and afflict thine heritage.
Wherefore hidest thou thy face, {and} forgettest our affliction and our oppression?
O my dove, {that art} in the clefts of the rock, in the secret {places} of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet {is} thy voice, and thy countenance {is} comely.