A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.
Heaven's great artillery.
Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.
Locked up from mortal eye in shady leaves of destiny.
Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .
All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, and thy pains sit bright on thee. All thy sorrows here shall shine and thy sufferings be divine; Tears shall take comfort and turn to gems and wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new dress the soul that once they slew.