When I see past the clouds of dustThat form all over these partsIn those clouds are human soulsDisguising wayward hearts They think they have immunityBut
“Oh how sweet the light of day, and how wonderful to live in the sunshine! Even if you live a long time, don’t take a
“Her enemies have become her masters.” -Lamentations 1:5 I keep imagining a little girl – free and unfettered, like the birds of the air –
Love is a wanderer,Weary from the road.Ages old he ambles past,Back bent from its load. On the darkest paths he doth tread,And in the roaring