HetaliaAbby

You sighed and rested your chin in your hand. It was raining. Again. "It shouldn't rain this much during May," you muttered, dragging yourself away from the window. You just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep until the weather brightened up. Groaning in boredom, you rolled over on your bed so that your head hung off the side. The spring semester was over, so you didn't have classes to go to. And all of the friends you had managed to make during school didn't live close enough to you to visit them. You couldn't go to work, because you hadn't been scheduled. "Aaagghhh," you groaned again, running your hands down your face. There must be so

My life is a hymn of fervent praise To God, the Ancient of the Days. To Him, my Father, do I lift My voice, my song—His wondrous gift. My voice, my song, and my life, too, All that I have, I offer to You O Christ my Lord, who suffered for me, O Christ who hung on the cross for me. It isn't much at all, it seems, Just songs and strains of silly dreams, But what I have, song, dream and all, I'd give it just to answer Your call. Come hell, high water, trouble, toil, Come, persecutor: pour the oil, Give me the palm branch, let me down, Give me the holy martyr's crown. My life's a hymn, my death is, too, So strike the fire, s

My life is a hymn of fervent praise To God, the Ancient of the Days. To Him, my Father, do I lift My voice, my song—His wondrous gift. My voice, my song, and my life, too, All that I have, I offer to You O Christ my Lord, who suffered for me, O Christ who hung on the cross for me. It isn't much at all, it seems, Just songs and strains of silly dreams, But what I have, song, dream and all, I'd give it just to answer Your call. Come hell, high water, trouble, toil, Come, persecutor: pour the oil, Give me the palm branch, let me down, Give me the holy martyr's crown. My life's a hymn, my death is, too, So strike the fire, s

My life is a hymn of fervent praise To God, the Ancient of the Days. To Him, my Father, do I lift My voice, my song—His wondrous gift. My voice, my song, and my life, too, All that I have, I offer to You O Christ my Lord, who suffered for me, O Christ who hung on the cross for me. It isn't much at all, it seems, Just songs and strains of silly dreams, But what I have, song, dream and all, I'd give it just to answer Your call. Come hell, high water, trouble, toil, Come, persecutor: pour the oil, Give me the palm branch, let me down, Give me the holy martyr's crown. My life's a hymn, my death is, too, So strike the fire, s

My life is a hymn of fervent praise To God, the Ancient of the Days. To Him, my Father, do I lift My voice, my song—His wondrous gift. My voice, my song, and my life, too, All that I have, I offer to You O Christ my Lord, who suffered for me, O Christ who hung on the cross for me. It isn't much at all, it seems, Just songs and strains of silly dreams, But what I have, song, dream and all, I'd give it just to answer Your call. Come hell, high water, trouble, toil, Come, persecutor: pour the oil, Give me the palm branch, let me down, Give me the holy martyr's crown. My life's a hymn, my death is, too, So strike the fire, s

~Lullaby~ *Baltic!Trio X Reader* 'Cross my heart/And promise all that!' It always had been like that - the four of them being together,working for the Russian male throught the alliance - more of an opression - which held them into the Soviet Union. The bright part of all was that they could at least be under the same roof and not separed by God knows which economical circumstances or socio-political matters. (Name) was grateful destiny was good enough with her,so that she still was close to her three friends and able to keep connections between them as they did. Having to bear Ivan's childishly cruel personality by herself would have been