Wake, my Soul. 

      But he who would be born again indeed,

     Must wake his soul unnumbered times a day,

     And urge himself to life with holy greed;

     Now ope his bosom to the Wind’s free play;

     And now, with patience forceful, hard, lie still,

     Submiss and ready to the making will,

     Athirst and empty, for God’s breath to fill. 
George MacDonald

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