P. C. Wren: Adventure Novels & Tales From the Foreign Legion. P. C. Wren

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P. C. Wren: Adventure Novels & Tales From the Foreign Legion - P. C. Wren

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him gone to thleep and made him be ill like he had eaten too much sweets, and the doctor came and gave him lotths of meddisnin. Then he had to wun away from the Thnake, but it wunned after him, and it wath jutht going to kill him when Mummy bwoughted the Thword and Daddy killed the Thnake all dead. And I am going to have the Thword when I gwow up, but vere aren't any more bad Thnakes. They is all good now and Daddy likes vem and I likes vem. Amen."

      "I never said Amen, when I told you the story, Sonny," remarks the lady.

      Lucille de Warrenne here smothers conversation in the manner common to worshipping mothers whose prodigies make remarks indicative of marvellous precocity, in fact absolutely unique intelligence.

      Epilogue

       Table of Contents

      Is it well, O my Soul, is it well?

      In silent aisles of sombre tone

       Where phantoms roam, thou dwell'st apart

       In drear alone.

       Where serpents coil and night-birds dart

       Thou liest prone, O Heart, my Heart,

       In dread unknown.

       O Soul of Night, surpassing fair,

       Guide this poor spirit through the air,

       And thus atone …

      This sad Soul, searching for the light….

      O Soul of Night, enstarréd bright,

       Shine over all.

       Enforce thy right to fend for us

       Extend thy power to fight for us

       Raise thou night's pall.

       Ensteep our minds in loveliness

       In all sweet hope and godliness

       Give guard o'er all …

       This brave Soul striving in stern fight….

      Thou soul of Night, thou spirit-elf,

       Rise up and bless.

       Help us to cleanse in holiness

       Show how to dress in saintliness

       Our weary selves,

       Expurge our deeds of earthiness

       Expunge desires of selfliness

       Rise up and bless …

       This strong Soul dying in such plight….

       . . . . .

      Night gently spreads her wings and flies

       Star-laden, wide across the skies.

       My Soul, new strong,

       So late enstained with earthly dust

       So long estranged in wander-lust

       Gives praise and song,

       Strives to create in morning light

       The starry wonders of the night

       In praise and song …

      This strong Soul praising in new right.

       It is well, O my Soul, it is well….

       Footnotes:

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