A safety unto them that save with it:
Born out of God, and unto human eyes,
Like God, not seen, till fleshly passion dies.
Lord Brooke.
’Tis He supports my mortal frame,
My tongue shall speak His praise,
My sins would rise His wrath to flame,
And yet His wrath delays.
On a poor worm Thy power might tread,
And I could ne’er withstand,