So Shall The World Go

Our Torments Also May In Length Of Time Become Our Elements.

Abashed The Devil Stood And Felt How Awful Goodness Is And Saw Virtue In Her Shape How Lovely: And Pined His Loss

Our Reason Is Our Law.

And Fast By, Hanging In A Golden Chain, This Pendent World, In Bigness As A Star Of Smallest Magnitude, Close By The Moon.

Till Old Experience Do Attain To Something Like Prophetic Strain.