Things Are Evermore Sincere; / Candor Here,

Humble We Must Be, If To Heaven We Go; High Is The Roof There, But The Gate Is Low.

Tis Hard To Find God, But To Comprehend Him, As He Is, Is Labour Without End.

Learn This Of Me, Where'er Thy Lot Doth Fall, Short Lot, Or Not, To Be Content With All.

Roses At First Were White, Till Thy Co'd Not Agree, Whether My Sapho's Breast, Or They More White Sho'd Be.

Thus Times Do Shift, Each Thing His Turn Does Hold; New Things Succeed, As Former Things Grow Old.