Bid Me Run, And I Will Strive

It Is In Pardoning That We Are Pardoned.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind Thou Art Not So Unkind, As Man's Ingratitude.

Alas, That Love, Whose View Is Muffled Still, Should Without Eyes See Pathways To His Will!

Unless The Old Adage Must Be Verified, That Beggars Mounted, Run Their Horse To Death.

A Man May Fish With The Worm That Hath Eat Of A King, And Eat Of The Fish That Hath Fed Of That Worm