Affliction Comes To Us All, Not To

Conscience Is The Frame Of Character, And Love Is The Covering For It.

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees, And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy. The Lonely Pine On The Mountain-top Waves Its Sombre Boughs And Cries, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Little Meadow Violet Lifts Its Cup Of Blue, And Whispers With Its Perfumed Breath, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Grain In A Thousand Fields Rustles In The Wind, And Makes Answer, 'thou Art My Sun.' So God Sits Effulgent In Heaven, Not For A Favored Few, But For The Universe Of Life; And There Is No Creature So Poor Or So Low That He May Not Look Up With Childish Confidence And Say, 'my Father, Thou Art Mine.

Mirth Is God's Medicine. Everybody Ought To Bathe In It.

It Takes A Man To Make A Devil; And The Fittest Man For Such A Purpose Is A Snarling, Waspish, Red-hot, Fiery Creditor.

In The Family, Happiness Is In The Ratio In Which Each Is Serving The Others, Seeking One Another's Good, And Bearing One Another's Burdens.