UNPROFITABLENESS by Henry Vaughan
HOW rich, O Lord, how fresh Thy visits are ! ‘Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung, Sullied with dust and mud ;Each snarling blast shot through me, and…
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HOW rich, O Lord, how fresh Thy visits are ! ‘Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung, Sullied with dust and mud ;Each snarling blast shot through me, and…