Sonnet CLXXVII: “Idle I am, if it be idleness” (George Henry Boker Poems)
Idle I am, if it be idleness To chirp and warble in this way to thee; Flinging a thread of ...
Idle I am, if it be idleness To chirp and warble in this way to thee; Flinging a thread of ...
Marveling in the start of Lent the ashes on my forehead Christ came down from heaven to take away my ...
Small voices, raised to the rafters singing their hearts out in the familiar story - the tale of the Babe ...
Not for some specific gift some desire of the heart choosing to be thankful in how I walk the earth ...
Not in capriciousness the randomness of fate but when why has no answer how we all can truly relate Wondering ...
Toiling with Job walking on the earth searching for the answer to why yet nothing there sufficient in my mortal ...
Little comfort in the scriptures except in the abstract the real-world issues staring us in the face Trial in the ...
If we slow our reading and treasure all the words learning from a righteous man who stumbled before God Taking ...
In so many ways, trying to be faithful living a devoted life grateful for God's grace Struggling as Job did ...
In this journey the walk on this earth wanting answers for questions great and small Many times, however, there are ...
His grace alone sufficient our only hope in him otherwise the struggles more than we can handle walking here on ...
Hopefully not going as far as he did in the later chapters not pushing the creator so that He would ...
Standing in the throne room the court of the creator a trembling Isaiah marveling at the sights Creatures of fire ...
After his repentance his turning to God seeing the creator marveling at his grace Returning double all of his wealth ...
The potter spoke out of the whirlwind answering the claim rebuking his claims the demands he dared to speak A ...
His eyes closed as were hers, a whisper of a kiss, a prayer breathed onto her brow, as if into ...
It sat carefully on the one-inch thick pine board Dials and coils and resistors combined to catch sound from the ...
Small voices, raised to the rafters singing their hearts out in the familiar story the tale of the babe and ...
We seem to be living a life of planned serendipity, scripted moments, rather than pure chance the consequences of more ...
(He speaks.) Walking, walking, oh, the joy of walking! Swinging down the tawny lanes with head held high; Striding up ...
Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head, And drink your rushing words with eager lips, And paint ...
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