It Is Too Little To Call Man

How Great Love Is, Presence Best Trial Makes, But Absence Tries How Long This Love Will Be.

I Throw Myself Down In My Chamber, And I Call And Invite God And His Angels Thither.

From Rest And Sleep, Which But Thy Pictures Be, Much Pleasure, Then From Thee Much More, Must Flow, And Soonest Our Best Men With Thee Do Go, Rest Of Their Bones, And Soul's Delivery.

Our Faults Are Not Seen, But Past Us; Neither Felt, But Only In The Punishment.

That Subtle Knot Which Makes Us Man So Must Pure Lovers Souls Descend T Affections, And To Faculties, Which Sense May Reach And Apprehend, Else A Great Prince In Prison Lies.