It Lies Not In Our Power To

Hell Strives With Grace For Conquest In My Breast. What Shall I Do To Shun The Snares Of Death?

Strike Up The Drum And March Courageously.

The Stars Move Still, Time Runs, The Clock Will Strike

Love Is Not Ful Of Pittie (as Men Say) But Deaffe And Cruell, Where He Meanes To Pray.

If We Say That We Have No Sin, We Deceive Ourselves, And There's No Truth In Us. Why Then Belike We Must Sin, And So Consequently Die. Ay, We Must Die An Everlasting Death.