So In A Voice, So In A

I Throw Myself Down In My Chamber, And I Call In, And Invite God, And His Angels Thither, And When They Are There, I Neglect God And His Angels, For The Noise Of A Fly, For The Rattling Of A Coach, For The Whining Of A Door.

Solitude Is A Torment Which Is Not Threatened In Hell Itself.

Reason Is Our Soul's Left Hand, Faith Her Right, By These We Reach Divinity

And To 'scape Stormy Days, I Choose An Everlasting Night.

If Every Gnat That Flies Were An Archangel, All That Could But Tell Me That There Is A God; And The Poorest Worm That Creeps Tells Me That.