Seldom Comes Glory Till A Man Be

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

None Pities Him That Is In The Snare, Who Warned Before, Would Not Beware.

Next, When I Cast Mine Eyes And See That Brave Vibration Each Way Free, O How That Glittering Taketh Me!

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

Fight Thou With Shafts Of Silver, And O'ercome When No Force Else Can Get The Masterdom