THE WORLD has been granted you in turn but what is given, how will you repay? see hills spring up before you and array themselves in blooms that ever do return, your vision does allow you to discern the spark that lights the lantern of the day encounters that you you along the way are gifts you see that you could never earn and though your pathways seemed circuitous an angel’s hand your destiny did trace and no exchange here is fortuitous all debts are paid already in the place for every gift here is gratuitous behold the beauty shining in her face: the only currency of love is grace
“I, quoth Iack a napes, by these ten bones,
Nothinge happens amiss to a præparid minde.”
—G. Harvey Schollers Loove in Let.-bk.(1573) 120
Beautiful Grace. Now I see