Shall I Speak Truly What

The Irresolute Man Flecks From One Egg To Another, So Hatches Nothing.

Irresolution Is A Worse Vice Than Rashness. He That Shoots Best May Sometimes Miss The Mark; But He That Shoots Not At All Can Never Hit It. Irresolution Loosens All The Joints Of A State; Like An Ague, It Shakes Not This Nor That Limb, But All The Body Is At Once In A Fit. The Irresolute Man Is Lifted From One Place To Another; So Hatcheth Nothing, But Addles All His Actions.

Of All Trees, I Observe God Hath Chosen The Vine, A Low Plant That Creeps Upon The Helpful Wall; Of All Beasts, The Soft And Patient Lamb; Of All Fowls, The Mild And Guileless Dove. Christ Is The Rose Of The Field, And The Lily Of The Valley. When God Appeared To Moses, It Was Not In The Lofty Cedar Nor The Sturdy Oak Nor The Spreading Palm; But In A Bush, A Humble, Slender, Abject Shrub; As If He Would, By These Elections, Check The Conceited Arrogance Of Man.

Surely, If We Considered Detraction To Be Bred Of Envy, Nested Only In Deficient Minds, We Should Find That The Applauding Of Virtue Would Win Us Far More Honor Than The Seeking Slyly To Disparage It. That Would Show We Loved What We Commended, While This Tells The World We Grudge At What We Want In Ourselves.

Negligence Is The Rust Of The Soul That Corrodes Through All Her Best Resolves.