Lord! Who Hath Praise Enough?

The Little Cannot Bee Great, Unlesse He Devoure Many. [the Little Cannot Be Great Unless He Devour Many.]

Hee That Blowes In The Dust Fills His Eyes With It.

Sundays Observe; Think When The Bells Do Chime, 't Is Angels' Music.

Bee Not Idle And You Shall Not Bee Longing.

In A Retreat The Lame Are Formost. [in A Retreat The Lame Are Foremost.]