The Generations Of Men Run On In

Time Is The Mercy Of Eternity; Without Time's Swiftness Which Is The Swiftest Of All Things, All Were Eternal Torment.

Struggling In My Father's Hands, Striving Against My Swaddling Bands, Bound And Weary, I Thought Best To Sulk Upon My Mother's Breast.

I Myself Do Nothing. The Holy Spirit Accomplishes All Through Me.

Wisdom Is Sold In A Desolate Marketplace Where None Can Come To Buy.

Little Lamb, Who Made Thee? Dost Thou Know Who Made Thee?