I Find The Medicine Worse Than The

Come, Sing Now, Sing; For I Know You Sing Well; I See You Have A Singing Face.

We Must Not Be Content To Be Cleansed From Sin; We Must Be Filled With The Spirit.

Of All The Forms Of Wisdom, Hindsight Is By General Consent The Least Merciful, The Most Unforgiving.

Weep No More, Nor Sigh, Nor Groan, Sorrow Calls No Time That 's Gone; Violets Plucked, The Sweetest Rain Makes Not Fresh Nor Grow Again.

Our Acts Our Angels Are, For Good Or Ill, Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.