Nature Hath No Goal Though She Hath

This Extasie Doth Unperplex (we Said) And Tell Us What We Love, Wee See By This, It Was Not Sexe, Wee See, We Saw Not What Did Move: But As All Severall Soules Contain Mixture Of Things, They Know Not What, Love, These Mixt Souls, Doth Mixe Againe. Loves Mysteries In Soules Doe Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Booke.

Filled With Her Love, May I Be Rather Grown Mad With Much Heart, Than Idiot With None.

Never Start With Tomorrow To Reach Eternity. Eternity Is Not Being Reached By Small Steps.

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.

O Lord, Never Suffer Us To Think That We Can Stand By Ourselves, And Not Need Thee.