Christ Beats His Drum, But He Does

Licence My Roving Hands, And Let Them Go Before, Behind, Between, Above, Below.

Tis True, 'tis Day; What Though It Be? O Wilt Thou Therefore Rise From Me? Why Should We Rise, Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down, Because 'twas Night? Love Which In Spite Of Darkness Brought Us Hither Should In Despite Of Light Keep Us Together.

If Every Gnat That Flies Were An Archangel, All That Could But Tell Me That There Is A God; And The Poorest Worm That Creeps Tells Me That.

Young Men Mend Not Their Sight By Using Old Men's Spectacles.

Our Faults Are Not Seen, But Past Us; Neither Felt, But Only In The Punishment.