These Are Thy Glorious Works, Parent Of

The Stars, That Nature Hung In Heaven, And Filled Their Lamps With Everlasting Oil, Give Due Light To The Misled And Lonely Traveller.

God Shall Be All In All.

Fame Is No Plant That Grows On Mortal Soil.

Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

More Safe I Sing With Mortal Voice, Unchang'd To Hoarse Or Mute, Though Fall'n On Evil Days, On Evil Days Though Fall'n, And Evil Tongues.