<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">The Parable of the Old Man and the Young</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22px;" class=""><br class=""></div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">And took the fire with him, and a knife.</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">And as they sojourned both of them together,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">Behold the preparations, fire and iron,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">But where the lamb, for this burnt-offering?</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">And builded parapets and trenches there,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">When lo! an Angel called him out of heaven,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">Saying, Lay not they hand upon the lad,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">Neither do anything to him, thy son.</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">Behold! Caught in a thicket by its horns,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">A Ram. Offer the Ram of Pride instead.</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22px;" class=""><br class=""></div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">But the old man would not so, but slew his son,</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class="">And half the seed of Europe, one by one.</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22px;" class=""><br class=""></div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- Wilfred Owen</div><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal; min-height: 22px;" class=""><br class=""></div><div style="margin: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: Verdana;" class="">Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) spent much of his short, adult life as a volunteer soldier for the British military during World War I. </div><div style="margin: 0px; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: Verdana;" class="">He wrote vivid and terrifying poems about modern warfare. Owen was killed by machinegun fire just days before the end of the war.</div><div class=""><br class=""></div></body></html>