When All Sinnes Grow Old, Coveteousnesse Is

To Him That Will, Waies Are Not Wanting.

Only A Sweet And Virtuous Soul, Like Seasoned Timber, Never Gives.

A Child Correct Behind And Not Before.

The God Of Love My Shepherd Is, And He That Doth Me Feed: While He Is Mine, And I Am His, What Can I Want Or Need?

Love Bade Me Welcome, But My Soul Drew Back.