Saturday, May 21, 2016

The Hunters

Hunter of priests, the souls

Out of the rocks and holes,

Out from the circled prayer,

Take them, dear Lord, from there--

From ev'ry hill and mount,

Faithful on ev'ry count,

Drawing Thy bow to claim

Thy sharpened arrow's aim.

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O Lord, my strength, and my fortress, and my refuge in the day of affliction, surely our fathers have inherited lies, vanity, and things wherein there is no profit. Let them know thy hand and thy might; let them know that thy name is The Lord.

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