Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.

These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.

The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.

Son of Heav'n and Earth, Attend: that thou art happy, owe to God; That thou continuest such, owe to thyself, That is, to thy obedience; therein stand.

There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.