There Is No Harder Shield For The

A Man Should Fear When He Only Enjoys What Good He Does Publicly. Is It Not The Publicity Rather Than The Charity He Loves? Is It Not Vanity, Rather Than Benevolence, That Gives Such Charities?

There Is Always Work, And Tools To Work Withal, For Those, Who Will.

It Is The End Of Art To Inoculate Men With The Love Of Nature.

Our Yearnings Are Homesicknesses For Heaven; Our Sighings Are For God, Just As Children That Cry Themselves Asleep Away From Home, And Sob In Their Slumber, Know Not That They Sob For Their Parents. The Soul's Inarticulate Moanings Are The Affections Yearning For The Infinite, And Having No One To Tell Them What It Is That Ails Them.

Ordinarily Rivers Run Small At The Beginning, Grow Broader And Broader As They Proceed, And Become Widest And Deepest At The Point, Where They Enter The Sea. It Is Such Rivers That The Christian's Life Is Like. But The Life Of The Mere Worldly Man Is Like Those Rivers In Southern Africa, Which, Proceeding From Mountain Freshets, Are Broad And Deep At The Beginning, And Grow Narrower And More Shallow As They Advance. They Waster Themselves By Soaking Into The Sands, And At Last They Die Out Entirely. The Farther They Run The Less There Is Of Them.