Death Is Not An End.

A Mother's Prayers, Silent And Gentle, Can Never Miss The Road To The Throne Of All Bounty.

Every Man Should Use His Intellect, Not As He Uses His Lamp In The Study, Only For His Own Seeing, But As The Lighthouse Uses Its Lamps, That Those Afar Off On The Seas May See The Shining, And Learn Their Way.

What Profusion Is There In His Work! When Trees Blossom There Is Not A Single Breastpin, But A Whole Bosom Full Of Gems; And Of Leaves They Have So Many Suits That They Can Throw Them Away To The Winds All Summer Long. What Unnumbered Cathedrals Has He Reared In The Forest Shades, Vast And Grand, Full Of Curious Carvings, And Haunted Evermore By Tremulous Music; And In The Heavens Above, How Do Stars Seem To Have Flown Out Of His Hand Faster Than Sparks Out Of A Mighty Forge!

It Is Defeat That Turns Bone To Flint, Gristle To Muscle, And Makes Men Invincible.

Repentance Is The Turning Of The Soul From The Way Of Midnight To The Point Of The Coming Sun.