01705 – Metaphor of an Old Church

Think of me as an old church: The floors are gone, the walls are moldy and bend with the winds and the rains, the roof allows too much light and too much migratory membership, but every once in a while, there is beautiful music, an inspiring snatch of words, and a...

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01648 – When We Come To It

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the...

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