In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse

Bid Me To Live, And I Will Livethy Protestant To Be,or Bid Me Love, And I Will Givea Loving Heart To Thee.

In Things A Moderation Keep; Kings Ought To Shear, Not Skin, Their Sheep.

Tis Not The Food, But The Content, That Makes The Table's Merriment.

My Soul I'll Pour Into Thee.

Next, When I Cast Mine Eyes And See That Brave Vibration Each Way Free, O How That Glittering Taketh Me!