I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

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

Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.

The heavens rejoice in motion, why should I Abjure my so much loved variety.

How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.

O Lord, never suffer us to think that we can stand by ourselves, and not need thee.

Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.