Part Of My Soul I Seek Thee,

Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell.

The Earth, Though In Comparison Of Heaven So Small, Nor Glistering, May Of Solid Good Contain More Plenty Than The Sun, That Barren Shines.

There Is No Christian Duty That Is Not To Be Seasoned And Set Off With Cheerishness, Which In A Thousand Outward And Intermitting Crosses May Yet Be Done Well, As In This Vale Of Tears.

Fate Shall Yield To Fickle Chance, And Chaos Judge The Strife.

So Spake The Seraph Abdiel, Faithful Found; Among The Faithless, Faithful Only He.