To sense the peace of extinguished passionHappiness in not knowing the ultimate knowledge
That was the Old Man__ favorite song. __low Ye Trumpet._ Them Negroes was far away from the doings on the plaza where the Old Man was to hang, way out from it. But they sang it loud and clear_.Blow ye trumpet blowBlow ye trumpet blow_.You could hear their voices for a long way, seemed like they lifted up and carried all the way into the sky, lingering in the air long afterward. And up above the church, high above it, a strange black-and-white bird circled __ound, looking for a tree to roost on, a bad tree, I expect, so he could alight upon it and get busy, so that it would someday fall and feed the others.
The Good Lord Bird
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That was the Old Man__ favorite song. __low Ye Trumpet._ Them Negroes was far away from the doings on the plaza where the Old Man was to hang, way out from it. But they sang it loud and clear_.Blow ye trumpet blowBlow ye trumpet blow_.You could hear their voices for a long way, seemed like they lifted up and carried all the way into the sky, lingering in the air long afterward. And up above the church, high above it, a strange black-and-white bird circled __ound, looking for a tree to roost on, a bad tree, I expect, so he could alight upon it and get busy, so that it would someday fall and feed the others.
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