We Are Not Meant To Resolve All

Can I See Another's Woe, And Not Be In Sorrow Too? Can I See Another's Grief, And Not Seek For Kind Relief? Can I See A Falling Tear, And Not Feel My Sorrow's Share? Can A Father See His Child Weep, Nor Be With Sorrow Filled? Can A Mother Sit And Hear An Infant Groan, An Infant Fear? No, No! Never Can It Be! Never, Never Can It Be!

The Glory Of Christianity Is To Conquer By Forgiveness.

As A Man Is, So He Sees.

The Hours Of Folly Are Measured By The Clock; But Of Wisdom, No Clock Can Measure.

O Thou With Dewy Locks, Who Lookest Down Thro' The Clear Windows Of The Morning, Turn Thine Angel Eyes Upon Our Western Isle, Which In Full Choir Hails Thy Approach, O Spring! The Hills Tell Each Other, And The Listening Valleys Hear; All Our Longing Eyes Are Turned Up To Thy Bright Pavilions: Issue Forth, And Let Thy Holy Feet Visit Our Clime. Come O'er The Eastern Hills, And Let Our Winds Kiss Thy Perfumed Garments; Let Us Taste Thy Morn And Evening Breath; Scatter Thy Pearls Upon Our Love-sick Land That Mourns For Thee.