Oh Do Not Die, For I Shall

Poetry Is A Counterfeit Creation, And Makes Things That Are Not, As Though They Were

Humiliation Is The Beginning Of Sanctification; And As Without This, Without Holiness, No Man Shall See God, Though He Pore Whole Nights Upon His Bible; So Without That, Without Humility, No Man Shall Hear God Speak To His Soul, Though He Hear Three Two-hour Sermons Every Day.

All Mankind Is One Volume. When One Man Dies, A Chapter Is Not Torn Out Of The Book, But Translated Into A Better Language. And Every Chapter Must Be Translated. God Employs Several Translators; Some Pieces Are Translated By Age, Some By Sickness, Some By War, Some By Justice. But God's Hand Shall Bind Up All Our Scattered Leaves Again For That Library Where Every Book Shall Live Open To One Another

I Wonder By My Troth, What Thou, And I Did, Till We Loved? Were We Not Weaned Till Then? But Sucked On Country Pleasures, Childishly? Or Snorted We In The Seven Sleepers' Den?

In The First Minute That My Soul Is Infused, The Image Of God Is Imprinted In My Soul; So Forward Is God In My Behalf, And So Early Does He Visit Me.