I Could Not Be Satisfied Unless Some

Who Would True Valour See, Let Him Come Hither; One Here Will Constant Be, Come Wind, Come Weather There’s No Discouragement Shall Make Him Once Relent His First Avowed Intent To Be A Pilgrim.

If We Have Not Quiet In Our Minds, Outward Comfort Will Do No More For Us Than A Golden Slipper On A Gouty Foot.

I Have Often Thought That The Best Christians Are Found In The Worst Of Times.

Here Is The Life Of Prayer, When In Or With The Spirit, A Man Being Made Sensible Of Sin, And How To Come To The Lord For Mercy; He Comes, I Say, In The Strength Of The Spirit, And Crieth Father. That One Word Spoken In Faith Is Better Than A Thousand Prayers, As Men Call Them, Written And Read, In A Formal, Cold, Lukewarm Way.

Dost Thou Understand Me, Sinful Soul? He Wrestled With Justice, That Thou Mightest Have Rest; He Wept And Mourned, That Thou Mightest Laugh And Rejoice; He Was Betrayed, That Thou Mightest Go Free; Was Apprehended, That Thou Mightest Escape; He Was Condemned, That Thou Mightest Be Justified; And Was Killed, That Thou Mightest Live; He Wore A Crown Of Thorns, That Thou Mightest Wear A Crown Of Glory; And Was Nailed To The Cross, With His Arms Wide Open, To Show With What Freeness All His Merits Shall Be Bestowed On The Coming Soul; And How Heartily He Will Receive It Into His Bosom?