The World's An Inn; And I Her

Yet, Sluggard, Wake, And Gull Thy Soul No More With Earth's False Pleasures, And The World's Delight, Whose Fruit Is Fair And Pleasing To The Sight, But Sour In Taste, False As The Putrid Core: Thy Flaring Glass Is Gems At Her Half Light; She Makes Thee Seeming Rich, But Truly Poor: She Boasts A Kernel, And Bestows A Shell; Performs An Inch Of Her Fair-promis'd Ell: Her Words Protest A Heav'n; Her Works Produce A Hell.

A Despairing Heart Is The True Prophet Of Approaching Evil; His Actions May Weave The Webs Of Fortune, But Not Break Them.

In All Thy Actions Think God Sees Thee; And In All His Actions Labor To See Him; That Will Make Thee Fear Him; This Will Move Thee To Love Him; The Fear Of God Is The Beginning Of Knowledge, And The Knowledge Of God Is The Perfection Of Love.

He That Hath Promised Pardon On Our Repentance Hat Not Promised Life Till We Repent.

Knowledge Descries; Wisdom Applies.