T Is The Will That Makes The

In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse The Holy Incantation Of A Verse

Let's Live With That Small Pittance Which We Have; Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

My Soul I'll Pour Into Thee.

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.

Love Is Maintain'd By Wealth: When All Is Spent, Adversity Then Breeds The Discontent.