Lord, Lord, How Subject We

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness To Catch The Nearest Way: Thou Wouldst Be Great; Art Not Without Ambition, But Without The Illness Should Attend It: What Thou Wouldst Highly, That Wouldst Thou Holily; Wouldst Not Play False, And Yet Wouldst Wrongly Win.

My Cousin's A Fool, And Thou Art Another.

O Lord That Lends Me Life, Lend Me A Heart Replete With Thankfulness!

Like Madness, Is The Glory Of This Life.

Don't Waste Your Love On Somebody, Who Doesn't Value It.