Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows In the ways below! Smoking, smouldering Tophets Steaming hopeless plaints! Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! Mean, skin-pledging saints! Knowing not the Father What their prophecies! Grapes of such none gather, Only thorns and lies. Loving thus the brother, How the Father tell? Go without each other To your heavenly hell!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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