In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse

Fair Daffodils, We Weep To See You Haste Away So Soon: As Yet The Early-rising Sun Has Not Attained His Noon.

When Words We Want, Love Teacheth To Indite; And What We Blush To Speak, She Bids Us Write.

Tears Are The Noble Language Of Eyes, And When True Love Of Words Is Destitute. The Eye By Tears Speak, While The Tongue Is Mute.

Whatever Comes, Let's Be Content Withal: Among God's Blessings There Is No One Small.

Thou Art My Life, My Love, My Heart, The Very Eyes Of Me: And Hast Command Of Every Part To Live And Die For Thee.