Mirth Is God's Medicine. Everybody

Sink The Bible To The Bottom Of The Ocean, And Man's Obligations To God Would Be Unchanged. He Would Have The Same Path To Tread, Only His Lamp And His Guide Would Be Gone; He Would Have The Same Voyage To Make, But His Chart And Compass Would Be Overboard!

A Door That Seems To Stand Open Must Be Of A Man's Size, Or It Is Not The Door That Providence Means For Him.

God Puts The Excess Of Hope In One Man, In Order That It May Be A Medicine To The Man Who Is Despondent.

It Is A View Of God That Compensates Every Thing Else, And Enables The Soul To Rest In His Bosom. How, When The Child In The Night Screams With Terror, Hearing Sounds That It Knows Not Of, Is That Child Comforted And Put To Rest? Is It By A Philosophical Explanation That The Sounds Were Made By The Rats In The Partition? Is It By Imparting Entomological Knowledge? No; It Is By The Mother Taking The Child In Her Lap, And Singing Sweetly To It, And Rocking It. And The Child Thinks Nothing Of The Explanation, But Only Of The Mother.

Fear Is The Soul's Signal For Rallying.