A little girl shuffled impatiently in a great crowd massed in front of Canterbury Cathedral last week, suddenly whispered excitedly to another child, "There's God!"
Over the western portal had emerged a figure, austere, terrifying in its solemnity. On its hoary head glittered a golden crown, over its shoulders shone a brilliant red chasuble. A long, patriarchal beard fluttered in the wind. For a moment the Figure was silent, then bellowed: I perceyve here in my majeste How that all creatures be to me unkynde, Lyvynge without drede in worldely prosperyte;...
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