The starry cope Of heaven.

Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighboring eyes.

What wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear without the knowledge of evil? He that can apprehend and consider vice with all her baits and seeming pleasures, and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true wayfaring Christian.

With thee conversing I forget all time.

Satan; so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.

God has set labor and rest, as day and night to men successive.

Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.