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The English Restoration Has Begun

Something is stirring in England. It’s not much. A still, small voice of calm whispering in the dark. Prayers ascending like incense. A rekindled faith.

No, it’s not much. Merely a mustard seed.

It won’t be noticed by most people. It will go unheeded by the dead men milling around satanically in what remains of England’s once green and pleasant land. And yet it stirs the restless hearts of those Englishmen who have languished in the hope of England’s return to the Faith, longing for the return of the exiled “Pilgrim Queen” of whom St. John Henry Newman wrote:

“Here I sit desolate,”
          sweetly said she,
“Though I’m a queen,
          and my name is Marie:
Robbers have rifled
          my garden and store,
Foes they have stolen
          my heir from my bower.

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