Some Laborers Have Hard Hands, And Old

I Prize Thy Love More Than Whole Mines Of Gold Or All The Riches That The East Doth Hold.

When I Behold The Heavens As In Their Prime, And Then The Earth (though Old) Still Clad In Green, The Stones And Trees, Insensible Of Time, Nor Age Nor Wrinkle On Their Front Are Seen

He That Would Be Content With A Mean Condition Must Not Cast His Eye Upon One That Is In A Far Better Estate Than Himself, But Let Him Look Upon Him That Is Lower Than He Is, And, If He See That Such A One Bears Poverty Comfortably, It Will Help To Quiet Him.

The Stones And Trees, Insensible To Time, / Nor Age Nor Wrinkle On Their Front Are Seen; / If Winter Come, And Greenness Then Do Fade / A Spring Returns, And They More Youthful Made; / But Man Grows Old, Lies Down, Remains Where Once He's Laid.

Satan, That Great Angler, Hath His Sundry Baits For Sundry Tempers Of Men, Which They All Catch Greedily At, But Few Perceive The Hook Till It Be Too Late.