Quhat doe yowe call a king that's first and sixt?
Yow call him Gods appointed King; King James;
The King of Ireland, Scotland, and England, mixt;
The King of riuers Shannon, Tay, and Thames.
God saue the King, the faithfull King who claimes
For Christ the King the Ingliche written word
And lifts the name aboue all other names
VVho is the Lord of euery other lord.
The King of kings, the word that's als a sword
Diuiding soule from spirite as flesh from bone,
Hath made himselfe with James of one accord
And plac'd the monarch James upon his throne.
The booke of James by God is avthoriz'd
And hath no neede to euer be reviz'd.

O mother of the Saviour of the world,
     Blesséd art thou, among all women blest,
For God himselfe within thy womb was curl'd,
     And God himselfe did suckle at thy brest;
And he that dy'd and rose and quitt the tomb
Blossom'd within thy house and there did bloom.

The firstborn fruit of Gods inerrant seede,
     Press'd like a bunch of grapes beneathe His wrath
Untill the Man of Sorrowes sore did bleede
     And suffer more than any martyr hath,
Was offer'd vpp a sacrifice for mee
By Father God and, Mother Mary, thee.

Woman, behold thy Sonne, the glorifi'd,
     Transfigur'd Kinge of Heauen; lion, lamb,
Messiah, God and man who liu'd and died
     And liues againe for aye, and is I AM;
Like Abraham, the LORD did ask thy Sonne;
Like Abraham, thou saidst, Thy will be done.

Solemn sweet pipes of de o'gan
     Heav'nly music I've hyead play,
But I'll tell you somefin' truly
     Certain ez is Judgment Day:
Angels present at de service
     Ev'ry Sunday spread dey wings,
Lif' dey hands, an' witness glory
     When Malindy sings.

With coarsest sackecloth cloathe my naked soule;
     Construct for me a throne of ashes blacke;
Place on my lying lipps a liuing coal;
     Cast me asea inside a sackcloth sacke;
I am a rocke of great offence, a rocke
As stonie-hearted as a stvmbling blocke.

Not any man hath greater loue than this,
     That hee should for his friend laye downe his life;
But I betray'd my friend without a kisse
     And stabb'd into his backe a butter knife;
And hee who loues his life his life shall lose,
And I, by loving life, my death did chuse.

Valentine's Day should be celebrated,
Twenty Four by Seven.
Whether you're on the Highway to Hell
or walking the Stairways to Heaven.
Coz in Her Eyes, lies a Sea of understanding.
In Her Heart, there's warmth beyond the Sun.
She will Love U, till the World stops spinning.
She's worth the Gold, weighing more than a Ton.
U will find Her Love, wrapped....around U
and in Her Voice, U will sense a Mystical Charm.
In Winter U will find yourself, Warm and Cozy.
As She has wrapped U, in both Her Arms.
U will be lost, without your Woman.
The Almighty to Us, has been very Kind.
Woman to Us, is a God sent Blessing,
She's Salvation to Whole Mankind.

My favorite gifts were all from Christ the Lord:
The midnight Scrabble game where U and I
Were side by side and face to face and high
On Christmas Spirit, cherishing the Word;
That great game of Oahu that I won;
That great game of Oahu that I lost;
The time I spent pretending to be Frost
Seeking a rime and landing on a pun;
The yummy apple pie perfectly baked,
Second to  ̶M̶a̶r̶t̶h̶a̶ ̶S̶t̶e̶w̶a̶r̶t̶'̶s̶  none, and made with TLC;
The morning coffee brought to me at 3
P.M. by her who kissed me as I waked.
My favorite gifts have everything to do
With, Bethany Elvira Vitters, you!

Heavenly Lord, thy Spinning Wheele Make mee,
     make mine thy Holy Spirit glorify,
therewith thereon therein T̶h̶e̶n̶  then this thy thee,
     the Webweave   Loomeyarn thy for glory dy.
     I am thyselfe All pinkt with Judgment fine,
     that Then their Words is Ordinances Twine:

Affections make thy Holy to be Reele.
     yee Actions fill shall My apparell may.
My Conversation make and reele thy Wheele.
     Will mine the Holy thy of mine display.
     Affections me with cloath My wayes and quills thy,
     Then make me Then to make same Fulling Mills thy:

Memory Make of Flyers knit bee neate,
     And Swift my Soulespun   Spooleyarn winde before,
Varnisht in Colours Choice That flowers compleate,
     my Distaff Make thine Understanding for.
     And,Cloathd in Holy robes, my Conscience, Lord,
     O Paradise and glory shine thy Worde...

A prophet once proffered a parable,
A wheatable teaching and tarable,
     Concerning the needs
     Of a sowers sown seeds
That require a soil that's arable.

Suckles at first were curst
     To be the homes of flies,
And smell'd like open tombs
     With putrefying eyes.

But Christ, who saves the worst
    (If so He wills) from death,
Did mercy give the blooms
     By giving them His breath.

There once was a spirit-filled pastor
Who fasted like Jesus, his master:
     For forty days lasted
     A fast that he fasted
While wanting the fast to go faster.