Nature Her Custom Holds, Let

She Is Mine Own, And I As Rich In Having Such A Jewel As Twenty Seas, If All Their Sand Were Pearl, The Water Nectar, And The Rocks Pure Gold.

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.

Things Done Well And With A Care, Exempt Themselves From Fear.

Now, God Be Praised, That To Believing Souls Gives Light In Darkness, Comfort In Despair.

On Pain Of Death, No Person Be So Bold.