Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

 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 -  Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice - I just wear my Wings -  And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, Our little Sexton - sings.  God preaches, a noted Clergyman -  And the sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven, at last -  I'm going, all along.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers- That perches in the soul- And sings the tune without the words- And never stops- -at all- And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard- And sore must be the storm- That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm- I've heard it in the chillest land- And on the strangest Sea- Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.

Tell the truth but tell it slant-  Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightening to the children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind