It Is A Sober Truth

Oh! The Joy Of Young Ideas Painted On The Mind, In The Warm Glowing Colors Fancy Spreads On Objects Not Yet Known, When All Is New, And All Is Lovely.

All Desire The Gifts Of God, But They Do Not Desire God.

The Wretch Who Digs The Mine For Bread, Or Ploughs, That Others May Be Fed, Feels Less Fatigued Than That Decreed To Him Who Cannot Think Or Read.

The World Does Not Require So Much To Be Informed As To Be Reminded.

When Thou Hast Truly Thanked The Lord For Every Blessing Sent, But Little Time Will Then Remain For Murmur Or Lament.