poem/bryant/church music

. Hymn I met Him on that Sunday afternoon I trod the Kentish cobbles through the streets Of Rochester past dwellings in the gloom Of fog laced with the waft of teashop treats. I entered the cathedral with a heart As heavy as its chilly walls of stone. I heard the organ stir and choir start To launch the lilt of Heaven’s work of art. That sabbath, seeds of...

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  1. Thank you, Margaret, for this long response. You obviously have given much thought to the matter, and I dare say…

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