Trust Of The Wicked And The Righteous Compared
As parched in the barren
Beneath a burning sky,
The worthless bramble with'ring stands,
And only grows to die
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The Wild Old Wicked Man
Because I am mad about womenI am mad about the hills,'Said that wild old wicked
Who travels where God wills
"Not to die on the straw at home
Those hands to close these eyes,
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