At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.

I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall, Nor any place be empty quite; Therefore I think my breast hath all Those pieces still, though they be not unite; And now, as broken glasses show A hundred lesser faces, so My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, But after one such love, can love no more.

If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.

Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.

As he that fears God fears nothing else, so he that sees God sees everything else.

Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.