The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her

How Gladly Would I Meet Mortality, My Sentence, And Be Earth In Sensible! How Glad Would Lay Me Down, As In My Mother's Lap! There I Should Rest, And Sleep Secure.

And Storied Windows Richly Dight, Casting A Dim Religious Light. There Let The Pealing Organ Blow, To The Full-voiced Choir Below, In Service High, And Anthems Clear As May, With Sweetness, Through Mine Ear Dissolve Me Into Ecstasies, And Bring All Heaven Before Mine Eyes.

Smiles From Reason Flow, To Brute Deny'd, And Are Of Love The Food.

True It Is That Covetousness Is Rich, Modesty Starves.

Immediate Are The Acts Of God, More Swift Than Time Or Motion.