A Little Saint Best Fits A Little

Here A Little Child I Stand, Heaving Up My Either Hand; Cold As Paddocks Though They Be, Here I Lift Them Up To Thee, For A Benison To Fall On Our Meat, And On Us All. Amen.

Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

Tis Hard To Find God, But To Comprehend Him, As He Is, Is Labour Without End.

Our Present Tears Here, Not Our Present Laughter Are But The Handsells Of Our Joys Hereafter.

Oft Have I Heard Both Youths And Virgins Say, Birds Chuse Their Mates And Couple Too This Day: But By Their Flight I Never Can Devine When I Shall Couple With My Valentine.