The Sixth Song. The Women: Who is this coming from the desert, arm in arm with her lover? The Woman: Under the apple-tree I woke you, in the place where you were born. Close your heart to every love but mine; hold no one in your arms but me. Love is as powerful as death; passion is as strong as death itself. It bursts into flame and burns like a ra
Until I Learned
Until I learned to trust,
I never learned to pray;
I never learned to fully trust
Till sorrows came my way.
Until I felt my weakness,
His strength I never knew—
Nor dreamed 'till I was stricken
That He would see me through.
Who deepest drinks of sorrow,
Drinks deepest, too, of grace;
He sends the storm, so He Himself
Can be our h
You have no enemies, you say? Alas! My friend, the boast is poor; He who has mingled in the fray Of duty, that the brave endure, Must have made foes! If you have none, Small is the work that you have done. You've hit no traitor on the hip, You've dashed no cup from perjured lip, You've never turned the wrong to right, You've been a coward in the fi
Honey Badger tells an absolute cracker. There was the National Poetry Championships taking place and there were two finalists. There was a bloke from University of New South Wales and a country bumpkin from out west. So they had 20 seconds to come up with a poem about Timbuktu. Up first, the university student. Oh, he's recording. And he goes, 'On
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