The Ill That Comes Out Of Our

Enrich My Heart, Mouth, Hands In Me, With Faith, With Hope, With Charity, That I May Run, Rise, Rest With Thee.

The Evening Praises The Day, And The Morning A Frost.

It Is A Great Victory That Comes Without Blood.

Hee That Dines And Leaves, Layes The Cloth Twice.

Who Spits Against Heaven, It Falls In His Face.