Really Great Things, When Discussed By Little

Lord, Thou Madest Us For Thyself, And We Can Find No Rest Till We Find Rest In Thee.

Modo, Et Modo, Non Habebent Modum. By-and-by Has No End.

Thou Must Be Emptied Of That Wherewith Thou Art Full, That Thou Mayest Be Filled With That Whereof Thou Art Empty.

Alternate Translation: Come Brethren, If You Have A Mind To Be Ingrafted In The Vine, It Is A Pity To See You Lopped Off In This Manner From The Stock. Reckon Up The Prelates In The Very See Of Peter; And In That Order Of Fathers See Which Has Succeeded Which. This Is The Rock Over Which The Proud Gates Of Hell Prevail Not.

I Do Not Comprehend All That I Am. Is The Mind, Therefore, Too Limited To Possess Itself?