Faint Not; The Miles To Heaven Are

Faith's Speculations To The Worst And Hardest, In Point Of Resolution, Are Sweet.

Since He Looked Upon Me My Heart Is Not My Own. He Hath Runaway To Heaven With It.

I Desire Now To Make No More Pleas With Christ; Verily, He Hath Not Put Me To A Loss By What I Suffer; He Oweth Me Nothing; For In My Bonds, How Sweet And Comfortable Have The Thoughts Of Him Been To Me, Wherein I Find A Sufficient Recompense Of Reward!.

Make Not Christ A Liar In Distrusting His Promise.

The Bloom Fell Off My Branches And Joy Did Cast Off Its Flower