The King's Name Is A Tower Of

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

Have Not Saints Lips, And Holy Palmers Too Ay, Pilgrim, Lips That They Must Use In Prayer.

I Speak Of Peace, While Covert Enmity Under The Smile Of Safety Wounds The World

The Barge She Sat In, Like A Burnish'd Throne, Burnt On The Water.

You Know Who You Are, But Know Not Who You Could Be.