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PROPHECY: New Madrid Quake-Blytheville ARK-Blithe Spirit
April 30, 2003

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The Lord is saying that the blithe spirit is about to depart from America

4.0 Earthquake (40 days and 40 nights, flood Genesis 7)(Very small earthquake for such wide news exposure)

Blytheville (blithe spirit-happy, carefree: about to depart from America?)

Arkansas (ARK-time to get in the ark?)

Blytheville-(blithe spirit to depart like a skylARK: singing as she flies straight up vertically) (Perhaps as one spirit flies upward, another falls from heaven?) (Shelley-"To A Skylark"-became a noted atheist in 1811, same year as the Great New Madrid quake and the run of a great comet)

Israel Roadmap presented on April 30 at 5 P.M., Jerusalem. Earthquake occurred on April at 4:56 UTC, And the earthquake occurred at the Southern extremity of the New Madrid fault, within one day of the delivery of the Israel "Roadmap".

Just a few things I noticed. Lot's of coincidences here! Ooops! There is no word for coincidence in Hebrew.

Earthquake Notification E-mail
Magnitude 4.0 near Blytheville, AR
Wednesday, April 30, 2003 at 4:56:22 (UTC)
Distance from 1 km (1 miles) NNW (334 degrees) of Blytheville, AR
5 km (3 miles) ESE (121 degrees) of Gosnell, AR
14 km (9 miles) N (9 degrees) of Burdette, AR
92 km (57 miles) N (3 degrees) of Memphis, TN
Coordinates 35 deg. 56.4 min. N (35.940N)
89 deg. 55.2 min. W ( 89.920W)
Depth 23.7 km (14.7 miles)

The word blithe, and the blith spirit, is illustrated in Shelley's famous poem. It is used in this poem by Shelley, entitled “To A Skylark”, which I feel led to reprint. The Skylark is unique in that it sings while in vertical flight.

Listen closely, and you can hear that Skylark singing as she departs vertically, toward the heavens, from our beautiful land. May the Lord work everything together for good that He will now allow to befall us.

One final detail that I just noticed: Percy Bysshe Shelley was 19 years old in 1811. 1811 was marked by the run of a great comet for the period of almost one year. November 1811 was marked by the strongest earthquake to strike the lower 48 states during the time of inhabitation by Caucasians. This occurred along the New Madrid fault.

Shelley published his first work in 1811. It was entitled: “The Necessity of Atheism”. For it, he was expelled from Oxford. He died at the age of 30, being lost at sea in a storm. His body washed up on shore, and was burned on a funeral pyre. He wrote the Skylark in 1820, apparently never having repented from his atheism, which he apparently came to by way of his aversion to compulsory Christianity. It seems clear that Shelley worshipped this "blithe spirit", rather than the Father Of spirits. Right now, America worships this blithe spirit as well. Our churches hail it too in the form of the prosperity teachings. It is about to depart like a Skylark.

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1792–1822

608. To a Skylark

HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert—
That from heaven or near it
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest,
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
In the golden light'ning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of heaven,
In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight—
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear,
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd.
What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see,
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody:—
Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:
Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aërial hue
Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view:
Like a rose embower'd
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflower'd,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-wingèd thieves.
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awaken'd flowers—
All that ever was Joyous and clear and fresh—thy music doth surpass.
Teach us, sprite or bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Chorus hymeneal,
Or triumphal chant,
Match'd with thine would be all
But an empty vaunt—
A thin wherein we feel there is some hidden want.
What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?
With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Yet, if we could scorn
Hate and pride and fear,
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!
Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know;
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow,
The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

Stephen L. Bening

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