Let My Muse Fail Of

Bid Me Despair, And I'll Despair,under That Cypress Tree;or Bid Me Die, And I Will Daree'en Death, To Die For Thee.

Whatever Comes, Let's Be Content Withal: Among God's Blessings There Is No One Small.

Lord, 'tis Thy Plenty-dropping Hand That Soils My Land, And Giv'st Me For My Bushel Sowne Twice Ten For One. All This, And Better, Thou Dost Send Me, To This End, That I Should Render, For My Part, A Thankful Heart.

Praise They That Will Times Past, I Joy To See My Selfe Now Live: This Age Best Pleaseth Mee.

Humble We Must Be, If To Heaven We Go; High Is The Roof There, But The Gate Is Low.