In-Text |
And now our storms are scattered, I perswade my self God makes tryal whether the Sunshine of his Mercy cannot court us out of those cloaks, those garments spotted with the flesh, which the blasts of afflictions could not ruffle us out of: |
And now our storms Are scattered, I persuade my self God makes trial whither the Sunshine of his Mercy cannot court us out of those cloaks, those garments spotted with the Flesh, which the blasts of afflictions could not ruffle us out of: |
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