There Is No Truth Sure Enough To

Who Overcomes By Force, Hath Overcome But Half His Foe.

Farewell Happy Fields, Where Joy Forever Dwells: Hail, Horrors, Hail.

What Wisdom Can There Be To Choose, What Continence To Forbear Without The Knowledge Of Evil? He That Can Apprehend And Consider Vice With All Her Baits And Seeming Pleasures, And Yet Abstain, And Yet Distinguish, And Yet Prefer That Which Is Truly Better, He Is The True Wayfaring Christian.

And Fast By, Hanging In A Golden Chain, This Pendent World, In Bigness As A Star Of Smallest Magnitude, Close By The Moon.

The Rising World Of Waters Dark And Deep.