If every gnat that flies were an archangel, all that could but tell me that there is a God; and the poorest worm that creeps tells me that.
So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
Our critical day is not the very day of our death; but the whole course of our life.
Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.
Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfill.