“God does not need man nor his won works.”

“When I consider how my light is spentEre half my days in this dark world and wide,And that one talent which is death to hideLodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest he returning chide,"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience, to preventThat murmur, soon replies: "God doth not needEither man's work or his own gifts: who bestBear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His stateIs kingly; thousands at his bidding speedAnd post o'er land and ocean without rest:They also serve who only stand and wait.”

“And of the sixth day yet remainedThere wanted yet the master work, the endOf all yet done: a creature who not prone And brute as other creatures but enduedWith sanctity of reason might erect His stature and, upright with front serene,Govern the rest, self-knowing, and from thenceMagnanimous to correspond with Heaven, But grateful to acknowledge whence his good Descends, thither with heart and voice and eyesDirected in devotion to adore And worship God supreme who made him chiefOf all His works.”

“Into this wild Abyss/ The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave--/ Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,/ But all these in their pregnant causes mixed/ Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,/ Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain/ His dark materials to create more worlds,--/ Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend/ Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,/ Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith/ He had to cross. ”

“No man [...] can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free, being the image and resemblance of God himself.”

“Not so on Man; him through their malice fall'n,Father of Mercy and Grace, thou didst not doomSo strictly, but much more to pity incline:No sooner did thy dear and only SonPerceive thee purpos'd not to doom frail ManSo strictly, but much more to pity inclin'd,He to appease thy wrath, and end the strifeOf mercy and Justice in thy face discern'd,Regardless of the Bliss wherein hee satSecond to thee, offer'd himself to dieFor man's offence. O unexampl'd love,Love nowhere to be found less than Divine!Hail Son of God, Saviour of Men, thy NameShall be the copious matter of my SongHenceforth, and never shall my Harp thy praiseForget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin.”

“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,When first on this delightful land he spreadsHis orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower,Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earthAfter soft showers, and sweet the coming onof grateful Evening mild; the silent Night,With this her solumn bird and hisfair Moon,And these the gems of Heaven, their starry train;But neither breath of morn nor rising sunOn this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flowerGlistening with dew, nor fragrance after shower,Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night,With this her solumn bird, nor walk by Moon,Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet”