The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her

Heaven Is As The Book Of God Before Thee Set, Wherein To Read His Wondrous Works.

Let Us Seek Death, Or He Not Found, Supply With Our Own Hands His Office On Ourselves; Why Stand We Longer Shivering Under Fears, That Show No End But Death, And Have The Power, Of Many Ways To Die The Shortest Choosing, Destruction With Destruction To Destroy.

See Golden Days, Fruitful Of Golden Deeds, With Joy And Love Triumphing.

Freely We Serve, Because We Freely Love, As In Our Will To Love Or Not; In This We Stand Or Fall.

Retiring From The Popular Noise, I Seek This Unfrequented Place To Find Some Ease.