To A Good Spender God Is The

Hee Begins To Die, That Quits His Desires.

The Sundaies Of Man's Life, Thredded Together On Time's String, Make Bracelets To Adorn The Wife Of The Eternal, Glorious King. On Sunday Heaven's Gates Stand Ope; Blessings Are Plentiful And Rife. More Plentiful Than Hope.

To Weepe For Joy Is A Kinde Of Manna.

In Great Pedigrees There Are Governours And Chandlers.

Lord, With What Care Hast Thou Begirt Us Round! Parents First Season Us; Then Schoolmasters Deliver Us To Laws; They Send Us Bound To Rules Of Reason, Holy Messengers, Pulpits And Sundays, Sorrow Dogging Sin, Afflictions Sorted, Anguish Of All Sizes, Fine Nets And Stratagems To Catch Us In, Bibles Laid Open, Millions Of Surprises, Blessings Beforehand, Ties Of Gratefulness, The Sound Of Glory Ringing In Our Ears: Without, Our Shame; Within, Our Consciences; Angels And Grace, Eternal Hopes And Fears. Yet All These Fences And Their Whole Array One Cunning Bosom-sin Blows Quite Away.