Anger May Repast With Thee

Alas! Fond Child, How Are Thy Thoughts Beguil'd To Hope For Honey From A Nest Of Wasps? Thou May'st As Well Go Seek For Ease In Hell, Or Sprightly Nectar From The Mouths Of Asps. The World's A Hive, From Whence Thou Canst Derive No Good, But What Thy Soul's Vexation Brings: But Case Thou Meet Some Petty-petty Sweet, Each Drop Is Guarded With A Thousand Stings.

Let The Fear Of A Danger Be A Spur To Prevent It.

Whosoever Obeyeth The Devil, Casteth Himself Down: For The Devil May Suggest, Compel He Cannot.

Even As The Needle That Directs The Hour, (touched With The Loadstone) By The Secret Power Of Hidden Nature, Points Upon The Pole; Even So The Wavering Powers Of My Soul, Touch'd By The Virtue Of Thy Spirit, Flee From What Is Earth, And Point Alone To Thee.

To Fear Death Is The Way To Live Long; To Lie Afraid Of Death Is To Be Long A Dying.