I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
-Emily Dickenson-
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I will sing like a songbird on a warm breezy day, And remember the songs When the warm breezes stray, As our God of mercy When souls darken and hide, Sun, songbirds and breezes He will always provide.