Happy Are They That Hear Their Detractions,

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.

The Glowworm Shows The Matin To Be Near And Gins To Pale His Uneffectual Fire.

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.

We Are Oft To Blame In This, - 'tis Too Much Proved, - That With Devotion's Visage, And Pios Action We Do Sugar O'er The Devil Himself.

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.