Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.

For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.

Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.

Death from sin no power can separate.

Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.

The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.

Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!