Who Is It That Can Tell Me

When Holy And Devout Religious Men Are At Their Beads, 'tis Hard To Draw Them Thence; So Sweet Is Zealous Contemplation.

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.

Bid Me Run, And I Will Strive With Things Impossible.

The Soul Of This Man Is His Clothes.

Be Just, And Fear Not.