From the shadow of the villages
Every year, spring drips new hopes into our souls. The whole nature, awakened to life, dresses in its chosen garment, in festive attire. Life erupts everywhere: in the mountains, in the valleys, in the woods, on the plains; only in the soul of the lazy and the unbeliever does there be no primordiality, for the wind of life blows desolate in it as in a house crushed by ruin.
Keep your eyes fixed on the sky, because after death the path of our soul is cut there. A little bird like the stork, does it still like to rise to the sun in a song of praise, and you, don't you like to ascend with your souls to heaven at least on Sundays and holidays ?! The whole of nature has changed its clothes. But you, the old garments of sin, receive them with the clean garment of good works, for otherwise Christians who do not want to deviate from the ways of evil habits and harmful sins are like the dry...
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