Tho' now no more the musing earDelights to listen to the breezeThat lingers o'er the green wood shade,I love thee Winter! well.
The mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingersHooked in the stones of the wall,The storm-wrack hair and screeching mouth: does it matter, Cassandra,Whether the people believe
Now I 'm convinced the Lord is kindTo men of heart sincere;Yet once my foolish thoughts repined,And bordered on despair.
v.9ff L. M.Salvation by Christ.
Fools in their heart believe and say"That all religion's vain;There is no God that reigns on high,Or minds th' affairs of men."
Had I the tongues of Greeks and Jews,And nobler speech, that angels use,If love be absent, I am found,Like tinkling brass, an empty sound.
Let Pharisees of high esteemTheir faith and zeal declare,All their religion is a dream,If love be wanting there.
O let our lips and lives expressThe holy gospel we profess;So let our works and virtues shine,To prove the doctrine all divine.
What blest examples do I findWrit in the Word of TruthOf children that began to mindReligion in their youth!
the history of melancholiaincludes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheetswhile staring at blue walls
In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-landsRise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient,stands.
Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision.The channel of the dust who once achievesInvalidates the balm of that religionThat doubts as fervently as it believes.
AIDSknows the condom wrapped penetration of strangers and lovers, deep insideonly a tear away from risk
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