human
Old house of Puritanic wood, Through whose unpainted windows streamed, On seats as primitive and rude As Jacob's pillow when he dreamed, The white and undiluted day.
gpt
--but I think no one can doubt that to the Puritans these seething, glaring, pine-smelling hothouses were truly God's dwelling-place, though there was no
human
--a very roundabout way to accomplish a very simple end. As years passed on, trees sprang up and grew apace, and too often the churches became overhung and heavily shadowed by dense, sombre spruce, cedar, and fir trees. A New England parson was preaching in a neighboring church which was thus gloomily surrounded. He gave out as his text,
gpt
Why do the wicked live? and as he peered in the dim light at his manuscript, he exclaimed abruptly,
human
I hope they will live long enough to cut down this great hemlock-tree back of the pulpit window.