If There Be Any One

There Can Be No Barrenness In Full Summer. The Very Sand Will Yield Something. Rocks Will Have Mosses, And Every Rift Will Have Its Wind-flower, And Every Crevice A Leaf; While From The Fertile Soil Will Be Reared A Gorgeous Troop Of Growths, That Will Carry Their Life In Ten Thousand Forms, But All With Praise To God. And So It Is When The Soul Knows Its Summer. Love Redeems Its Weakness, Clothes Its Barrenness, Enriches Its Poverty, And Makes Its Very Desert To Bud And Blossom As The Rose.

Men's Best Successes Come After Their Disappointments.

There Are Persons So Radiant, So Genial, So Kind, So Pleasure-bearin G, That You Instinctively Feel In Their Presence That They Do You Good; Whose Coming Into A Room Is Like Bringing A Lamp There.

Blessed Be The Man Whose Work Drives Him. Something Must Drive Men; And If It Is Wholesome Industry, They Have No Time For A Thousand Torments And Temptations.

Living Is Death; Dying Is Life. We Are Not What We Appear To Be. On This Side Of The Grave We Are Exiles, On That Citizens; On This Side Orphans, On That Children.