“Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

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  I HEARD a thousand blended notes   While in a grove I sate reclined,  In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts  Bring sad thoughts to the mind.  To her fair works did Nature link  The human soul that through me ran;  And much it grieved my heart to think  What Man has made of Man.  Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,  The periwinkle trail’d its wreaths;  And ’tis my faith that every flower  Enjoys the air it breathes.  The birds around me hopp’d and play’d,  Their thoughts I cannot measure,—  But the least motion which they made  It seem’d a thrill of pleasure.  The budding twigs spread out their fan  To catch the breezy air;  And I must think, do all I can,  That there was pleasure there.  If this belief from heaven be sent,  If such be Nature’s holy plan,  Have I not reason to lament  What Man has made of Man?

The answer to, "Can you name that sin?"

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The other day I posted this:

"There is no temptation for it, neither does it offer any pleasure to the one who does it;
It is very offensive, yet may be repeated at will;
It causes increasing hardness against Biblical Christianity and distress to every Christian;
It shows the destruction to which mankind is bound, a sure sign of desperation and hopelessness.
(hint: it can be loud)"

Did you figure out what it was?

The answer is: cursing or swearing.

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