Let every Christian, as much as in him lies, engage himself openly and publicly, before all the World, in some mental pursuit for the Building up of Jerusalem.

Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody poor. Mercy no more could be, If all were happy as we.

Joy and woe are woven fine.

The Woman that does not love your Frowns Will never embrace your smiles.

Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.

Every mortal loss is an immortal gain.

I will not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.