I Am Made Of God, Through His

The More Perfect A Thing Is, The More Susceptible To Good And Bad Treatment It Is.

Justice Does Not Descend From Its Own Pinnacle.

The Infernal Storm, Eternal In Its Rage, Sweeps And Drives The Spirits With Its Blast; It Whirls Them, Lashing Them With Punishment. When They Are Swept Back Past Their Place Of Judgment Then Come The Shrieks, Laments, And Anguished Cries; There They Blaspheme God's Almighty Power.

They Find Seven Cornices On Which Penitent And Redeemed Sinners Are Cleansed By The Grace Of God. On The First Cornice, That Of Pride, The Proud Are Learning Humility: Our Father, Dwelling In The Heavens, Nowise As Circumscribed, But As The Things Above, Thy First Effects, Are Dearer In Thine Eyes, Hallowed Thy Name Be And The Power Thereof, By Every Creature, As Right Meet It Is We Praise The Tender Effluence Of Thy Love. Let Come To Us, Let Come Thy Kingdom's Peace.

Your Fame Is As The Grass, Whose Hue Comes And Goes, And His Might Withers It By Whose Power It Sprang From The Lap Of The Earth.