From my reading today in Diary of an Old Soul:
January 2
A dim aurora rises in my east,
Beyond the line of jagged questions hoar,
As if the head of our intombed High Priest
Began to glow behind the unopened door:
Sure the gold wings will soon rise from the gray!
They rise not. Up I rise, press on the more,
To meet the slow coming of the Master's day.
And from the hymnal:
Holy, holy, holy!
Though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man
Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy --
there is none beside Thee
Perfect in power,
in love and purity.
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