It is in my silent sustenance of solitude, sitting in the never ending deluge of the indulgences of my ever-present piety. that I now, once again, sit here in this silent sustenance of solitude, and the ever-present solitary isolation of my forlorn and forsaken state of wretchedness, that is my life. Wretched am I, so poor in spirit, poor but for the kingdom of Heaven promised in hope. Oh, but this wretchedness, this woeful, morning spirit, this spirit in all of such sorrows, shall the love of God use this sorrow, in all His grace, to cause even the mountains to topple headlong into the sea?