Foxes have holes, and birds (their Maker said)
Have nests, but I nowhere to lay my head.
Our greater Jacob, hunted and alone,
He made his pillows of the granite stone.
So sepulchred, he saw a glory rise
Stair upon stair above his darkened eyes;
Angels trod up and down the slanting beam.
With dawn he woke, and it was not a dream.
Austin Farrer.
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