- published: 16 Nov 2009
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An epistle ( /ɨˈpɪsəl/; Greek ἐπιστολή, epistolē, 'letter') is a writing directed or sent to a person or group of people, usually an elegant and formal didactic letter. The epistle genre of letter-writing was common in ancient Egypt as part of the scribal-school writing curriculum. The letters in the New Testament from Apostles to Christians are usually referred to as epistles. Those traditionally attributed to Paul are known as Pauline epistles and the others as catholic (i.e., "general") epistles.
The ancient Egyptians wrote epistles, most often for pedagogical reasons. Egyptologist Edward Wente (1990) speculates that the Fifth-dynasty Pharaoh Djedkare Isesi—in his many letters sent to his viziers—was a pioneer in the epistolary genre. Its existence is firmly attested during the Sixth Dynasty of the Old Kingdom, and is prominently featured in the educational guide The Book of Kemit written during the Eleventh Dynasty. A standardized formulae for epistolary compositions existed by the time of the Middle Kingdom of Egypt. The epistolary formulae used in the Ramesside Period found its roots in the letters composed during the Amarna Period of the Twentienth Dynasty. Wente describes the "Satirical Letter" found on the Papyrus Anastasi I of the Nineteenth Dynasty as an epistle which was commonly copied as a writing exercise by Egyptian schoolchildren on ceramic ostraca (over eighty examples of which have been found so far by archaeologists). Epistle letters were also written to the dead, and, by the Ramesside Period, to the gods; the latter became even more widespread during the eras of Persian and Greek domination.
In the searchin' eyes of someone's daughter,
There's a hope that maybe things'll change.
Peace on earth will come and find us waiting,
Unless, somehow, we've wandered out of range.
Of salvation, mmmm.
And to the church in Baltimore, a question:
What have you done to ease the pain of man?
I've heard you've given comfort to some sinners,
But I'm afraid you just don't understand.
To an orphan child dyin' of hunger,
God is just a half a loaf of bread.
Rise up from your hundred dollar table,
Make sure your paroquet is fed.
And don't forget to save a dime for Jesus.
Don't forget who sent 'em all to war.
Take a pill to ease the call of conscience,
It's just a dream, it really can't be more.
An' to your marchin' men in blue or silver,
Everyone for peace is just a lousy red.
You just can't seem to figure out the reason:
The answer lies in what the shepherd said.
He said: "I'll choose you one out of a thousand.
"Only two out of ten thousand more.
"And you shall stand as one again,
"On the sacred shores of the promise."
Instrumental break.
I am the sea an' you're a ragin' river.
You are the sun, I'm a crystal fountain.
Flowin' in the growin' love of livin'.
Spirit guide us to the Holy mountain.
Spirit guide us to the Holy mountain.
I am you an' you are me an' all together, we are three,
Shinin' in the night-time of our bein'.
An' just in case our fathers have forgotten,
Maybe we should help them understand.
And to the church in Baltimore, a question:
What have you done to ease the pain of man?