Tag Archives: Herbert Butterfield

Armageddon

Posted on October 3, 2020 by cwny

And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in … Continue reading →

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Sacred Tears

Posted on September 21, 2019 by cwny

Let the tears which fell, and the broken words which were exchanged in the long close embrace between the orphans, be sacred. A father, sister, and mother, were gained, and lost, in that one moment. Joy and grief were mingled … Continue reading →

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The Eyes of the Heart

Posted on June 17, 2017 by cwny

Old Man. O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant, these fourscore years. Glou. Away, get thee away! Good friend, be gone; Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt. … Continue reading →

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Blood, Hearth, and Faith

Posted on May 7, 2016 by cwny

Dickson groaned. What had become of his dream of idylls, his gentle bookish romance? Vanished before a reality which smacked horribly of crude melodrama and possibly of sordid crime. His gorge rose at the picture, but a thought troubled him. … Continue reading →

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