I Wonder, By My Troth, What Thou

All Whom War, Dearth, Age, Agues, Tyrannies, Despair, Law, Chance, Hath Slain.

Men Perish With Whispering Sins-nay, With Silent Sins, Sins That Never Tell The Conscience That They Are Sins, As Often With Crying Sins; And In Hell There Shall Meet As Many Men That Never Thought What Was Sin, As That Spent All Their Thoughts In The Compassing Of Sin.

Affliction Is A Treasure, And Scarce Any Man Hath Enough Of It. No Man Hath Affliction Enough That Is Not Matured And Ripened By It And Made Fit For God.

All Our Life Is But A Going Out To The Place Of Execution, To Death.

I Shall Not Live 'till I See God; And When I Have Seen Him, I Shall Never Die.