Rise And Put On Your Foliage, And

In The Hour Of My Distress, When Temptations Me Oppress, And When I My Sins Confess, Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me.

When One Is Past, Another Care We Have; Thus Woe Succeeds A Woe, As Wave A Wave.

In Prayer The Lips Ne'er Act The Winning Part, Without The Sweet Concurrence Of The Heart.

Like Will To Like, Each Creature Loves His Kind.

The Body Is The Soul's Poor House Or Home, Whose Ribs The Laths Are And Whose Flesh The Loam.