The Voice Of Honest Indignation Is The

My Mother Bore Me In The Southern Wild, And I Am Black, But O! My Soul Is White; White As An Angel Is The English Child, But I Am Black As If Bereaved Of Light.

The Soul Of Sweet Delight, Can Never Be Defiled.

God Keep Me From The Divinity Of Yes And Nothe Yea Nay Creeping Jesus, From Supposing Up And Down To Be The Same Thing As Allexperimentalists Must Suppose.

Prudence Is A Rich, Ugly, Old Maid Courted By Incapacity.

Sweet Babe, In Thy Face Soft Desires I Can Trace, Secret Joys And Secret Smiles, Little Pretty Infant Wiles.