The Weightiest End Of The Cross Of

Our Little Time Of Suffering Is Not Worthy Of Our First Night's Welcome Home To Heaven.

Ye Have Lost A Child--nay, She Is Not Lost To You, Who Is Found To Christ; She Is Not Sent Away, But Only Sent Before; Like Unto A Star, Which Going Out Of Our Sight, Doth Not Die And Vanish, But Shineth In Another Hemisphere.

My Lord Jesus Has Fully Recompensed My Sadness With His Joys, My Losses With His Own Presence. I Find It A Sweet And Rich Thing To Exchange My Sorrows With Christ's Joys, My Afflictions With That Sweet Peace I Have With Himself.

Think It Not Hard If You Get Not Your Will, Nor Your Delights In This Life; God Will Have You To Rejoice In Nothing But Himself.

When The Race Is Ended, And The Play Is Either Won Or Lost, And Ye Are In The Utmost Circle And Border Of Time, And Shall Put Your Foot Within The March Of Eternity, All The Good Things Of Your Short Nightdream Shall Seem To You Like Ashes Of A Blaze Of Thorns Or Straw.