A Little Saint Best Fits

The Body Is The Soul's Poor House Or Home, Whose Ribs The Laths Are And Whose Flesh The Loam.

Some Asked Me Where The Rubies Grew, And Nothing I Did Say; But With My Finger Pointed To The Lips Of Julia.

Things Are Evermore Sincere; / Candor Here, And Lustre There / Delighting.

Her Eyes The Glowworm Lend Thee, The Shooting Stars Attend Thee; And The Elves Also, Whose Little Eyes Glow Like The Sparks Of Fire, Befriend Thee.

God Doth Not Promise Here To Man That Hewill Free Him Quickly From His Misery;but In His Own Time, And When He Thinks Fit,then He Will Give A Happy End To It.