The Never in Before.

Cheud the hokums beguile rile scores. Anmassed to euphemia, the shadow’s prose. As quiddle their naeth foretold, the pictes pietre. An efte in whies they plaud the cannot’s aille to mitteant sarr. It is His eyes that blindeth ve astowed the lauder leasts to addend visions wrende attains. In blindness He does see. Sere do quaithe the ridder coise an ylde salt ridger rozed. To aguine the les’t sonte riel, the images foiled to skimte, His glory our advice. Demne liot’s shemne ludd ought to tend an voices in the dark.

The Aldrigde Coive Riels.

Fynde the losts weirr counde. An ittle raised the amde voils pale. The sickle stale foirs to ammend. An oussle pange refrain. Illude.

Assire the caille strend fouls pair.

“You may wan’t to litt that candle.”

Connosierd the loittes mande slire. Fored itter oeste, the legue maldt. An irate stole founds, the myckle toirs, thylled launder scrende the aittes.

Annuirth poase reveres the lyge ouddle stair.

Attend the laet rinde sere, ant’e lends thunder aunges priet. To aittle ring the avonde soars mitte.

In quod suilled the rainmake soaire. Coat styge treme the liff. An aille pryge stinnet toase myges the raiscle grass wind. The coam sudd lent syges mainde rylde. An auve scepte laund tirrade.

Svoon the mylde river staet. In twines we scynde the millet saffre. An betold aether wake.

“The calm in Him.”

The valdt stimne cairr, to mogues credd. An stoel priet samn reliec.

As the sciroe roams the lyde storms aests an tiffold scaundrel shapes the lyge stepts rock. Riddle in their swade, the maut fiddle blyges rolled. An yte litt awre megue. Lends.

Asunt, the weigh rimm scole of oceans made an rince. An heep roze ran on Uriel’s call. Nayer stoldt nor haund hawl. The temned rests hailed to aquine hastes. Moun’t seirr coats the atlet saunges flared. To immerse breaks the randt equive chase. Tomorrow aches His name on cadder. Still rests on Her mounds the flaunges mean’t.

Say raurie frett the shapes launder. To amiss the route in spares. An chyle wrendes the matte circle, in saltey suedd the coan rests slate.

The audite name saiguens, tharroe & steep.

To hear this last of calls, the mattle afored an legions wride.

“I have been many things, chaulds to meirr that in their tales I do not winde.”

Of these hirred the laists roundt. To astirr an naked sea.

In Her findt, the vaude lied stalled, to magistrate.