Psalms 45:1-9

My heart bursts its banks, spilling beauty and goodness. I pour it out in a poem to the king, shaping the river into words: * * * “You’re the handsomest of men; every word from your lips is sheer grace, and God has blessed you, blessed you so much. Strap your sword to your side, warrior! Accept praise! Accept due honor! Ride majestically! Ride triumphantly! Ride on the side of truth! Ride for the righteous meek! “Your instructions are glow-in-the-dark; you shoot sharp arrows Into enemy hearts; the king’s foes lie down in the dust, beaten. “Your throne is God’s throne, ever and always; The scepter of your royal rule measures right living. You love the right and hate the wrong. And that is why God, your very own God, poured fragrant oil on your head, Marking you out as king from among your dear companions. “Your forest-drenched garments are fragrant with mountain breeze. Chamber music—from the throne room— makes you want to dance. Kings’ daughters are maids in your court, the Bride glittering with golden jewelry. * * *