Humble we must be, if to heaven we go; High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
But ne'er the rose without the thorn.
Things are evermore sincere; / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse; Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.