The wood is dead; the tree is downed, So worthless lying on the ground. But Love is a consuming fire Who lights the log upon its pyre. The fire blazes bright and hot, But left alone the flame dies out. The blazing fire soon burns low; The flicker of the flame is slow. When almost all the fuel is spent, The heat reduced, the light grows faint. The log is shrunken, cracked and gray, Almost spent, life’s little day. What good is smoke in darkest night? What good to smoulder without light? So smash and bash with iron rod; Now […]

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