As we sit in the pews do we think of our virtues as some do, uttering phrases of piety that defy the Deity, who say keep to yourself do not come near me for I am holier than you.
The oboe plays a sorrowful tune the rhythm of the harp is not melodious, the furrow is an odious melody played to our Deity as a fire that burns all the day when we worship that way.
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