Стихи и рассказы из категории church

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The Viennese authorities have melted down the great bell in St
Stephen's to supply metal for guns or muntions
Every poor village has made a similar gift
—Lokal Anzeiger
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Here among long-discarded cassocks,
Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks,
Here where the vicar never looksI nibble through old service books
Lean and alone I spend my
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I didn't go to church today,
I trust the Lord to understand
The surf was swirling blue and white,
The children swirling on the sand
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HE
LE  Down the Savoy valleys sounding,  Echoing round this castle old,  'Mid the distant mountain-chalets  Hark
what bell for church is toll'd
In the bright October morning  Savoy's Duke had left his bride
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"Tie stille, barn min
Imorgen kommer Fin,
Fa'er din,
Og gi'er dich Esbern Snares öine og hjerte at lege med
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Wild wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing
Dark dark night, wilt thou never wear away
Cold cold church, in thy death sleep lying,
The Lent is past, thy Passion here, but not thine Easter-day
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Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister –
And an Orchard, for a Dome –
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