A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.

Heaven's great artillery.

A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.

Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .

And when life's sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; a kiss, a sigh, and so away.

Eyes that displace the neighbor diamond, and outface that sunshine by their own sweet grace.

Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.