The Parson Knows Enough Who Knows A

Perhaps Thou Gav'st Me, Though Unseen, A Kiss; Perhaps A Tear, If Souls Can Weep In Bliss.

The Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flower.

But Truths On Which Depends Our Main Concern, That 'tis Our Shame And Misery Not To Learn, Shine By The Side Of Every Path We Tread With Such A Lustre He That Runs May Read.

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

We Sacrifice To Dress Till Household Joys And Comforts Cease. Dress Drains Our Cellar Dry, And Keeps Our Larder Lean.