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For the poor always ye have with you; but me ye have not always...
Jn 12:8
To break, O to break this jar,
Let the sweet oil stream, the fragrant perfume fill
The air, and your smallish hearts, men, your mean
Good-doing, born of hidden pride; stale,
Calculating charity. Oh, could I bring the world
To give its best, it wouldn't be too much,
Could I pour more than I have, more than I am!
Oh, come and serve Him in my stead, you holy lot,
How come there's none but me, a sinner, to anoint
His feet, with joy and grief; how come you know not?!
- Gently! Don't stand in her way, men. Let in.
Don't you see? You just cannot keep her within
Limits. Mind your business. She will stay; I say,
Don't you touch her! Don't you dare to keep her away
From Me.
Paris, 9 April 2012
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