I Do Love I Know Not What;

Those Saints, Which God Loves Best, The Devil Tempts Not Least.

Learn This Of Me, Where'er Thy Lot Doth Fall, Short Lot, Or Not, To Be Content With All.

Before Man's Fall The Rose Was Born,st. Ambrose Says, Without The Thorn;but For Man's Fault Then Was The Thornwithout The Fragrant Rose-bud Born; But Ne'er The Rose Without The Thorn.

Lord, 'tis Thy Plenty-dropping Hand That Soils My Land, And Giv'st Me For My Bushel Sowne Twice Ten For One. All This, And Better, Thou Dost Send Me, To This End, That I Should Render, For My Part, A Thankful Heart.

Let's Live With That Small Pittance Which We Have; Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.