On A Sudden Open Fly

She What Was Honour Knew, And With Obsequious Majesty Approv'd My Pleaded Reason. To The Nuptial Bower I Led Her Blushing Like The Morn; All Heaven And Happy Constellations On That Hour Shed Their Selectest Influence; The Earth Gave Sign Of Gratulation, And Each Hill; Joyous The Birds; Fresh Gales And Gentle Airs Whisper'd It To The Woods, And From Their Wings Flung Rose, Flung Odours From The Spicy Shrub.

What Is Dark Within Me, Illumine.

It Is Not Good That Man Should Be Alone. ... Hitherto All Things That Have Been Named, Were Approved Of God To Be Very Good: Loneliness Is The First Thing Which God's Eye Named Not Good: Whether It Be A Thing, Or The Want Of Something, I Labour Not.

But God Himself Is Truth; In Propagating Which, As Men Display A Greater Integrity And Zeal, They Approach Nearer To The Similitude Of God, And Possess A Greater Portion Of His Love.

He That Can Apprehend And Consider Vice With All Her Baits And Seeming Pleasures, And Yet Abstain, And Yet Distinguish, And Yet Prefer That Which Is Truly Better, He Is The True Wayfaring Christian. I Cannot Praise A Fugitive And Cloistered Virtue, Unexercised And Unbreathed, That Never Sallies Out And Sees Her Adversary, But Slinks Out Of The Race, Where That Immortal Garland Is To Be Run For, Not Without Dust And Heat. Assuredly We Bring Not Innocence Into The World, We Bring Impurity Much Rather: That Which Purifies Us Is Trial, And Trial Is By What Is Contrary.