Be Lowly Wise: Think Only What Concerns

To Hear The Lark Begin His Flight, And Singing Startle The Dull Night, From His Watch-tower In The Skies, Till The Dappled Dawn Doth Rise.

Come, Pensive Nun, Devout And Pure, Sober Steadfast, And Demure, All In A Robe Of Darkest Grain, Flowing With Majestic Train.

And On The Tree Of Life, The Middle Tree And Highest There That Grew, Sat Like A Cormorant.

Our Cure, To Be No More; Sad Cure!

Hard Are The Ways Of Truth, And Rough To Walk.