What I Do Is Me, For That

It Seems Then That It Is Not The Excellence Of Any Two Things (or More) In Themselves, But Those Two Things As Viewed By The Light Of Each Other, That Makes Beauty.

My Own Heart Let Me More Have Pity On; Let Me Live To My Sad Self Hereafter Kind, Charitable; Not Live This Tormented Mind With This Tormented Mind Tormenting Yet.

Lovely The Woods, Waters, Meadows, Combes, Vales, All The Air Things Wear That Build This World Of Wales.

For Christ Plays In Ten Thousand Places,/ Lovely In Limbs, And Lovely In Eyes Not His/ To The Father Through The Features Of Men’s Faces.

The Best Ideal Is The True And Other Truth Is None. All Glory Be Ascribed To The Holy Three In One.