Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse

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.

Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss

They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.

Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.

Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.