Love's Mysteries In Souls Do

The Heavens Rejoice In Motion, Why Should I Abjure My So Much Loved Variety.

Humiliation Is The Beginning Of Sanctification.

Now God Comes To Thee, Not As In The Dawning Of The Day, Not As In The Bud Of The Spring, But As The Sun At Noon To Illustrate All Shadows, As The Sheaves In Harvest, To Fill All Penuries, All Occasions Invite His Mercies, And All Times Are His Seasons.

Love Was As Subtly Caught, As A Disease; But Being Got It Is A Treasure Sweet, Which To Defend Is Harder Than To Get: And Ought Not Be Profaned On Either Part, For Though 'tis Got By Chance, 'tis Kept By Art.

If I Lose At Play, I Blaspheme; If My Fellow Loses, He Blasphemes. So, God Is Always The Loser.