by Emeritus » Mon Jan 03, 2011 4:35 pm
ONCE in a saintly passion
I cried with desperate grief,
"O Lord, my heart is black with guile,
Of sinners I am chief."
Then stooped my guardian angel
And whispered from behind,
"Vanity, my little man,
You're nothing of the kind."
James Thomson
Time stays, we go. H. L. Mencken