To live a life half dead, a living death.

Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.

Hence, loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy.

Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.

Death from sin no power can separate.

It is not hard for any man who hath a Bible in his hand to borrow good words and holy sayings in abundance; but to make them his own is a work of grace only from above.

These two imparadised in one another's arms, the happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill of bliss on bliss.