Art Can Do Much, But

I Am Obnoxious To Each Carping Tongue Who Says My Hand A Needle Better Fits.

Fire Hath Its Force Abated By Water, Not By Wind; And Anger Must Be Allayed By Cold Words, And Not By Blustering Threats.

What To My Saviour Shall I Givewho Freely Hath Done This For Me?i'll Serve Him Here Whilst I Shall Liveand Loue Him To Eternity

The Stones And Trees, Insensible To Time, / Nor Age Nor Wrinkle On Their Front Are Seen; / If Winter Come, And Greenness Then Do Fade / A Spring Returns, And They More Youthful Made; / But Man Grows Old, Lies Down, Remains Where Once He's Laid.

That When We Live No More, We May Live Ever