I see grace growth best in winter

The bloom fell off my branches and joy did cast off its flower

I had but one joy, the apple of the eye of my delights , to preach Christ my Lord

ye and I might meet with joy up in the rainbow

Like a fool as I was , I suffered my sun to be high in the heavens and near afternoon before I ever took the gate by the end.

I hang by a thread, but it is (if I may so speak) of Christ's spinning

The good Husbandman may pluck His rose & gather in His lily.