It Is Not Vain Glory For A

Yet Writers Say, As In The Sweetest Bud The Eating Canter Dwells, So Eating Love Inhabits In The Finest Wits Of All.

My Life, My Joy, My Food, My Ail The World!

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

O Thou That Dost Inhabit In My Breast, Leave Not The Mansion So Long Tenantless; Lest, Growing Ruinous, The Building Fall And Leave No Memory Of What It Was!

You Have Lost No Reputation At All, Unless You Repute Yourself Such A Loser.