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In memoriam, Anya Silver We chose not to seehow close it hovered.She had been sick so longwe had grown accustomedto her bright scarvesand turbans as
This collage of tears and laughter,Wanderings toward promise and much laterWhat seems the murder of the Promise.Of Isaac freed and Jephthah’s daughter burnt,Of Hannah’s prayers
for Carl Schalk The composer’s vision lacks centers, he says,The music he writes must fit into his peripheries.Even so, God’s glory dazzles the scores like
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