'tis The Year's Midnight, And It Is

Humiliation Is The Beginning Of Sanctification.

The Heavens Rejoice In Motion, Why Should I Abjure My So Much Loved Variety.

Without Outward Declarations, Who Can Conclude An Inward Love?

Who Ever Comes To Shroud Me, Do Not Harm Nor Question Much That Subtle Wreath Of Hair, Which Crowns My Arm; The Mystery, The Sign You Must Not Touch, For 'tis My Outward Soul, Viceroy To That, Which Then To Heaven Being Gone, Will Leave This To Control, And Keep These Limbs, Her Provinces, From Dissolution.

Man Is Not Only A Contributory Creature, But A Total Creature; He Does Not Only Make One, But He Is All; He Is Not A Piece Of The World, But The World Itself, And Next To The Glory Of God, The Reason Why There Is A World.