| You and all the kind of Christ |  |
| By G.K. Chesterton | |||
| Monday, 01 November 2010 | |||
| But you and all the kind of Christ Are ignorant and brave, And you have wars you hardly win And souls you hardly save. I tell you naught for your comfort,
Yea, naught for your desire, Save that the sky grows darker yet And the sea rises higher. Night shall be thrice night over you,
And heaven an iron cope. Do you have joy without a cause, Yea, faith without a hope?
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