Tis Hard To Find God, But To

Let's Live With That Small Pittance Which We Have; Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

When Words We Want, Love Teacheth To Indite; And What We Blush To Speak, She Bids Us Write.

Bid Me To Love, And I Will Give A Loving Heart To Thee.

We Credit Most Our Sight; One Eye Doth Please Our Trust Farre More Than Ten Eare-witnesses.

In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse The Holy Incantation Of A Verse