I Am Two Fools, I

Love's Mysteries In Souls Do Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Book.

To An Incompetent Judge I Must Not Lie, But I May Be Silent; To A Competent I Must Answer.

Death Comes Equally To Us All, And Makes Us All Equal When It Comes.

Now God Comes To Thee, Not As In The Dawning Of The Day, Not As In The Bud Of The Spring, But As The Sun At Noon To Illustrate All Shadows, As The Sheaves In Harvest, To Fill All Penuries, All Occasions Invite His Mercies, And All Times Are His Seasons.

Batter My Heart, Three-personed God, For You As Yet But Knock; Breathe, Shine, And Seek To Mend; That I May Rise, And Stand, O'erthrow Me, And Bend Your Force To Break, Blow, Burn, And Make Me New.