But Most Thro' Midnight Streets I Hear

General Good Is The Plea Of The Scoundrel, Hypocite, Flatterer.

But If At Church They Would Give Some Ale. And A Pleasant Fire Our Souls To Regale. We'd Sing And We'd Pray All The Live Long Day, Nor Ever Once From The Church To Stray.

For Mercy Has A Human Heart Pity, A Human Face: And Love, The Human Form Divine, And Peace, The Human Dress.

Men Are Admitted Into Heaven Not Because They Have Curbed Or Governed Their Passions, But Because They Have Cultivate Their Understandings.

Like A Fiend In A Cloud, With Howling Woe, After Night I Do Crowd, And With Night Will Go; I Turn My Back To The East, From Whence Comforts Have Increased; For Light Doth Seize My Brain With Frantic Pain.