He Is As Full Of

God Is Our Fortress, In Whose Conquering Name Let Us Resolve To Scale Their Flinty Bulwarks.

I Am In Blood Stepp'd In So Far, That, Should I Wade No More, Returning Were As Tedious As Go O'er.

I Have Had A Most Rare Vision. I Have Had A Dream, Past The Wit Of Man To Say What Dream It Was.

The Summer's Flow'r Is To The Summer Sweet, Though To Itself It Only Live And Die' But If That Flow'r With Base Infection Meet, The Basest Weed Outbraves His Dignity: For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lilies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

There Are No Tricks In Plain And Simple Faith.