wind

'The devil must be forced to reveal any such physical evil
(potions, charms, fetishes, etc.) still outside the body
and these must be burned.' (Rituale Romanum, published
1947, endorsed by the coat-of-arms and introductory
letter from Francis cardinal Spellman)


I am a cowboy in the boat of Ra,
sidewinders in the saloons of fools
bit my forehead like O
the untrustworthiness of Egyptologists
who do not know their trips. Who was that
dog-faced man? they asked, the day I rode
from town.

I always s like the northern birches:
Their view, so downcast and grave,
The fever, which poor souls scorches,
Cools like the mute speech of a grave.

But yet, the willow, which branches,
With their long leaves, cast in a flood,
Is closer to a dream, that scourges,
And longer lives in our heart.

Deploring groves their own,
Their meadows – with bitter tears,
Tell birches to cold wind alone
Their common sufferings and fears.

Believing that the whole ground
Is motherland of sacred grieves,

Regeneration.

John 1:13; 3:3, etc.

Not all the outward forms on earth,
Nor rites that God has giv'n,
Nor will of man, nor blood, nor birth,
Can raise a soul to heav'n.

The sovereign will of God alone
Creates us heirs of grace
Born in the image of his Son,
A new, peculiar race.

The Spirit, like some heav'nly wind,
Blows on the sons of flesh,
New-models all the carnal mind,
And forms the man afresh.

Our quickened souls awake, and rise
From the long sleep of death;

The promises of the covenant of grace.

Isa. 55:1,2; Zech. 13:1; Mic. 7:19; Ezek. 36:25, etc.

In vain we lavish out our lives
To gather empty wind;
The choicest blessings earth can yield
Will starve a hungry mind.

Come, and the Lord shall feed our souls
With more substantial meat,
With such as saints in glory love,
With such as angels eat.

Our God will every want supply,
And fill our hearts with peace;
He gives by cov'nant and by oath
The riches of his grace.

God holy, just, and sovereign.

Job 9:2-10.

How should the sons of Adam's race
Be pure before their God?
If he contend in righteousness,
We fall beneath his rod.

To vindicate my words and thoughts
I'll make no more pretence;
Not one of all my thousand faults
Can bear a just defence.

Strong is his arm, his heart is wise;
What vain presumer's dare
Against their Maker's hand to rise,
Or tempt th' unequal war?

[Mountains, by his almighty wrath,

The description of Christ the beloved.

SS 5:9-16.

The wond'ring world inquires to know
Why I should love my Jesus so:
What are his charms," say they, "above
The objects of a mortal love?"

Yes! my Beloved, to my sight
Shows a sweet mixture, red and white:
All human beauties, all divine,
In my Beloved meet and shine.

White is his soul, from blemish free;
Red with the blood he shed for me;
The fairest of ten thousand fairs;
A sun amongst ten thousand stars.

The church the garden of Christ.

SS 4:12-15; 5:1.

We are a garden walled around,
Chosen and made peculiar ground;
A little spot enclosed by grace
Out of the world's wide wilderness.

Like trees of myrrh and spice we stand,
Planted by God the Father's hand;
And all his springs in Zion flow,
To make the young plantation grow.

Awake, O, heav'nly wind! and come,
Blow on this garden of perfume;
Spirit divine! descend and breathe
A gracious gale on plants beneath.

The invitation of the gospel.

Isa. 55:1,2,etc.

Let every mortal ear attend,
And every heart rejoice;
The trumpet of the gospel sounds
With an inviting voice.

Lo! all ye hungry, starving souls.
That feed upon the wind,
And vainly strive with earthly toys
To fill an empty mind.

Eternal Wisdom has prepared
A soul-reviving feast,
And bids your longing appetites
The rich provision taste.

Ho! ye that pant for living streams,
And pine away and die,

The atonement of Christ.

Rom. 3:25.

How is our nature spoiled by sin!
Yet nature ne'er hath found
The way to make the conscience clean,
Or heal the painful wound.

In vain we seek for peace with God
By methods of our own:
Jesus, there's nothing but thy blood
Can bring us near the throne.

The threat'nings of thy broken law
Impress our souls with dread;
If God his sword of vengeance draw,
It strikes our spirits dead.

But thine illustrious sacrifice

God incomprehensible and sovereign.

[Can creatures to perfection find
Th' eternal, uncreated Mind?
Or can the largest stretch of thought
Measure and search his nature out?

'Tis high as heav'n, 'tis deep as hell
And what can mortals know or tell?
His glory spreads beyond the sky,
And all the shining worlds on high.

But man, vain man, would fain be wise;
Born like a wild young colt, he flies
Through all the follies of his mind,
And swells, and snuffs the empty wind.]