Antichrist Is Mammon's Son.

It Was That Fatal And Perfidious Bark, Built In Th' Eclipse, And Rigg'd With Curses Dark.

There Is No Christian Duty That Is Not To Be Seasoned And Set Off With Cheerishness, Which In A Thousand Outward And Intermitting Crosses May Yet Be Done Well, As In This Vale Of Tears.

Morn, Wak'd By The Circling Hours, With Rosy Hand Unbarr'd The Gates Of Light.

What In Me Is Dark Illumine, What Is Low Raise And Support, That To The Height Of This Great Argument I May Assert Eternal Providence, And Justify The Ways Of God To Men. 1 Paradise Lost. Book I. Line 22.

Sabrina Fair, Listen Where Thou Art Sitting Under The Glassy, Cool, Translucent Wave, In Twisted Braids Of Lilies Knitting The Loose Train Of Thy Amber-dropping Hair.