human
When I am gone, somehow I hope that April Will typify my life, my faith, My hope of victory through the years, My steadiness of step, my clear and visioned eye. The early flowers, the birds Singing in the rain, The increasing light, the slowly opening buds, The almond blooms, the trees in vernal dress Are like the silver crown upon the head; A prophecy of heaven's summer time. Yes, even now it is the April Of my great immortality.
gpt
Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life.
human
Sow in the morn thy seed.