The Secret Formula Of The Saints: When

Our Little Time Of Suffering Is Not Worthy Of Our First Night's Welcome Home To Heaven.

Grow As A Palm-tree On God's Mount Zion; Howbeit Shaken With Winds, Yet The Root Is Fast.

The Cross Of Christ Is The Sweetest Burden That I Ever Bore; It Is Such A Burden As Wings Are To A Bird, Or Sails To A Ship, To Carry Me Forward To My Harbor.

I Bless The Lord That All Our Troubles Come Through Christ's Fingers, And That He Casteth Sugar Among Them And Casteth In Some Ounce Withts Of Heaven And Of The Spirit Of Glory In Our Cup.

I Had But One Joy, The Apple Of The Eye Of My Delights , To Preach Christ My Lord