
Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come;
Make poor the body, but make rich the heart:
What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home,
Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart!
Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames,
Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low-
Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames
When joyous in death's harvest-home we go.
--- George MacDonald
God is here, God is there,Now, I myself actually invoked the Muse to produce that work of literary perfection, and a man serving as minister of music in a Baptist church—and I do hesitate to call it “in real life”—insisted that that could be offered in good conscience as worship.
God, in fact, is everywhere:
Up your nose, between your toes,
He dwells within your garden hose.
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