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Train Whistles

Each time at a crossing
Train whistles intone
Their song with a feeling
So strangely their own.
From deep in the distance
Low moaning is heard;
The tone is entrancing,
Somehow I am stirred.

Again it is softer,
Night hushes the sound,
Till mellowed in shadows
My window is found.
There dwells in my mem'ry
Long cherished and dear,
A thought of my home,
When train whistles I hear.

- William Malewitz, The Beachcomber

Preaching a sermon is like hunting rabbits. They run in a circle, and you better stop them the first time around or else.

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