Be Warm, Be Pure, Be

The Thorns Which I Have Reap'd Are Of The Tree I Planted; They Have Torn Me, And I Bleed. I Should Have Known What Fruit Would Spring From Such A Seed.

I Am Surrounded Here By Parsons And Methodists, But As You Will See, Not Infested With The Mania.

Muse Of The Many Twinkling Feet, Whose Charms Are Now Extending Up From Legs To Arms.

There Is No Traitor Like Him Whose Domestic Treason Plants The Poniard Within The Breast That Trusted To His Truth

Now I Shall Go To Sleep. Goodnight.