There Is A Garden In Her Face,
Where Roses And White Lilies Blow;
A Heavenly Paradise Is That Place,
Wherein All Pleasant Fruits Do Grow.
There Cherries Grow That None May Buy,
Till Cherry Ripe Themselves Do Cry
Tiny drops of water
Little grains of sands
Make the mighty Oceans
And the pleasant Lands
And the passing moments
Humble though they be
Make the mighty ages of Eternity
