Malta is a sod of a place.
Malta is a sod of a place.
Thinks't thou there are no serpents in the world; But those that slide along the grassy sod, And sting the luckless foot that presses them; There are who in the path of social Iife; Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun, And sting th.
A weapon that comes down as still As snowflakes fall upon the sod But executes a freeman's will, As lightning does the will of God And from its force nor doors nor locks Can shield you,'t is the ballot-box.
Beyond Electrons The new believers of our age are they, The men of science, who have come to learn There is a will that points the cosmic ray, A power that directs what they discern In atmosphere, in star and wave and sod Beyond electrons they discover God. From microscope and tube evolves a faith Of modern days, sustaining ancient creeds It is the scientist who makes a wraith Of doubt, and find a God behind His deeds.
At the end of the Beatles, I really was done in for the first time in my life. Until then, I really was a kind of cocky sod.
Recently, my personal advisors have been telling me to go to America. Actually, people have been walking up to me in the street and telling me to sod off, but that's the same thing, isn't it?
People think I'm a miserable sod but it's only because I get asked such bloody miserable questions.
Laughter and love and work and god;
As I shall talk of these same things hereafter
In wave and sod.
Do not lift him from the bracken, Leave him lying where he fell Better bier ye cannot fashion None beseems him half so well As the bare and broken heather, And the hard and trampled sod, Whence his angry soul ascended To the judgment seat of God.
How red the Fire rocks below --
How insecure the sod
Did I disclose
Would populate with awe my solitude.
I need not shout my faith. Thrice eloquent Are quiet trees and the green listening sod Hushed are the stars, whose power is never spent The hills are mute yet how they speak of God.
Warm summer sun, shine kindly here Warm southern wind, blow softly here Green sod above, lie light, lie light Good night, dear heart, good night, good night.
God is the Old Repair Man. When we are junk in Nature's storehouse he takes us apart. What is good he lays aside he might use it someday. What has decayed he buries in six feet of sod to nurture the weeds.
He who owns a garden, However small it be, Whose hands have planted in it Flower or bush or tree He who watches patiently The growth from nurtured sod, Who thrills at newly opened bloom Is very close to God.
New feet within my garden go --
New fingers stir the sod --
A Troubadour upon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.
It was very clear that this was a very, very old site. There were remains of sod walls. Fishermen assumed it was an old Indian site. Bu Indians didn't use that kind of buildings and houses.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories