I Observe The Physician With The Same

Great Sorrows Cannot Speak.

Affliction Is A Treasure, And Scarce Any Man Hath Enough Of It. No Man Hath Affliction Enough That Is Not Matured And Ripened By It And Made Fit For God.

I Count All That Part Of My Life Lost Which I Spent Not In Communion With God, Or In Doing Good.

Yet Nothing Can To Nothing Fall, Nor Any Place Be Empty Quite; Therefore I Think My Breast Hath All Those Pieces Still, Though They Be Not Unite; And Now, As Broken Glasses Show A Hundred Lesser Faces, So My Rags Of Heart Can Like, Wish, And Adore, But After One Such Love, Can Love No More.

How Great Love Is, Presence Best Trial Makes, But Absence Tries How Long This Love Will Be.