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I Perceive We Postpone All Our Joys Of Christ, Till He And We Be In Our Own House Above, Thinking That There Is Nothing Of It Here To Be Sought Or Found, But Only Hope And Fair Promises; And That Christ Will Give Us Nothing Here But Tears, Sadness, Crosses; And That We Shall Never Feel The Smell Of The Flowers Of That High Garden Of Paradise Above, Till We Come There. Nay, But I Find It Possible To Find Young Glory, And A Young Green Paradise Of Joy Even Here. We Dream Of Hunger In Christ's House, While We Are Here, Although He Alloweth Feasts To All The Bairns Within God's Household.

No Created Powers Can Mar Our Lord Jesus' Music, Nor Spill Our Song Of Joy. Let Us Then Be Glad And Rejoice In The Salvation Of Our Lord

It Is The Lord's Kindness That He Will Take The Scum Off Us In The Fire. Who Know How Needful Winnowing Is To Us And What Dross We Have Before We Enter The Kingdom Of God? So Narrow Is The Entry To Heaven That Our Knots, Lumps Of Pride, Self-love, Idol-love, And World-love Must Be Hammered Off Us, That We May Stoop Low And Creep Through Into That Narrow Entry.

Let Your Children Be As So Many Flowers, Borrowed From God. If The Flowers Die Or Wither, Thank God For A Summer Loan Of Them.

After Winter Comes The Summer. After Night Comes The Dawn. And After Every Storm, There Comes Clear, Open Skies.