God's Pleasure Is At The End Of

Sin Is A Basilisk Whose Eyes Are Full Of Venom. If The Eye Of Thy Soul See Her First, It Reflects Her Own Poison And Kills Her; If She See Thy Soul, Unseen, Or Seen Too Late, With Her Poison, She Kills Thee: Since Therefore Thou Canst Not Escape Thy Sin, Let Not Thy Sin Escape Thy Observation.

The World's A Printing-house, Our Words, Our Thoughts, Our Deeds, Are Characters Of Several Sizes. Each Soul Is A Compos'tor, Of Whose Faults The Levites Are Correctors; Heaven Revises. Death Is The Common Press, From Whence Being Driven, We're Gather'd, Sheet By Sheet, And Bound For Heaven.

Physicians, Of All Men, Are Most Happy; Whatever Good Success Soever They Have, The World Proclaimeth; And What Faults They Commit, The Earth Covereth.

When The Flesh Presents Thee With Delights, Then Present Thyself With Dangers; Where The World Possesses Thee With Vain Hopes, There Possess Thyself With True Fear; When The Devil Brings Thee Oil, Bring Thou Vinegar. The Way To Be Safe Is Never To Be Secure.

Death's A Fable. Did Not Heaven Inspire Your Equal Elements With Living Fire Blown From The Spring Of Life? Is Not That Breath Immortal? Come; Ye Are As Free From Death As He That Made Ye: Can The Flames Expire Which He Kindled?