What wicked soul has tore us asunder that we should be without hope… too, suffer the torrid horror of this present state? ‘tis but the long delayed decay… wrought by a derelict mind, set loose among our progeny… whose innocence, now destroyed is left to wonder at its loss.
Where then comes this wickedness… but from a forlorn mind; whose, abandon of its better course is now driven too recklessness. Thinking too find a better world, it has brought ruin too many… whose, hope abandoned their fathers purpose; to take up with lesser men in pursuit of a mean course.
There they wait for the inevitable end… too, hear the pronouncement of the writing upon the wall… Mene, Mene, Tekel, upahrsin. The days of this nation are numbered. It has been weighed and found wanting. It shall be divided among the nations, to become a byword unto every foul bird. Let it be known, little time remains… for the wayward to repent and a Nation to be saved.
Who will stand with the Lord to be numbered among the righteous… let him stand now. For, the time is upon us when good men must no longer hold with the piety of silence… They must now speak or forever hold their peace. Behold, a great shaking is upon the Church… and many shall fall away for the love of the world.