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In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne, I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were, In habite an heremite unholy of werkes, Went wide in this world wondres to here.
— William Langland
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What shepherd feeds his sheep with his own blood? But Christ feeds us with His own Blood and in all things unites us to Himself.
— Saint John Chrysostom
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