He Fed His Spirit With The Bread

Lincoln, The Man Of The People

Here Is The Truth In A Little Creed, Enough For All The Roads We Go: In Love Is All The Law We Need, In Christ Is All The God We Know.

I (god) Will Leave Man To Make The Fateful Guess, Will Leave Him Torn Between The No And Yes, Leave Him Unresting Till He Rests In Me, Drawn Upward By The Choice That Makes Him Free, Leave Him In Tragic Loneliness To Choose, With All In Life To Win Or All To Lose.

At The Heart Of The Cyclone Tearing The Sky And Flinging The Cloud And The Towers By, Is A Place Of Central Calm: So Here In The Roar Of Mortal Things, I Have A Place Where My Spirit Sings, In The Hollow Of God's Palm.

Choices Are The Hinges Of Destiny.