He That Hath No Cross

The Worldly Wisdom Of The Foolish Man Is Like A Sieve, That Does Alone Retain The Grosser Substance Of The Worthless Bran: But Thou, My Soul, Let Thy Brave Thoughts Disdain So Coarse A Purchase: O Be Thou A Fan To Purge The Chaff, And Keep The Winnow'd Grain: Make Clean Thy Thoughts, And Dress Thy Mixt Desires: Thou Art Heav'n's Tasker, And Thy God Requires The Purest Of Thy Flow'r, As Well As Of Thy Fires.

That Action Is Not Warrantable Which Either Fears To Ask The Divine Blessing On Its Performance, Or Having Succeeded, Does Not Come With Thanksgiving To God For Its Success.

Put Off Thy Cares With Thy Clothes; So Shall Thy Rest Strengthen Thy Labour, And So Shall Thy Labour Sweeten Thy Rest.

O Who Would Trust This World, Or Prize What's In It, That Gives And Takes, And Chops And Changes, Ev'ry Minute?

Becoming Fearless Isn't The Point. That's Impossible. It's Learning How To Control Your Fear, How To Be Free From It, That's The Point. Necessity Of Action Takes Away The Fear Of The Act, And Makes Bold Resolution The Favorite Of Fortune.