In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

Roses at first were white, Till thy co'd not agree, Whether my Sapho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.

Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.

Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.

Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse; Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

I do love I know not what; Sometimes this, and sometimes that.