The Elect, Those Who Will;

The Aster Has Not Wasted Spring And Summer Because It Has Not Blossomed. It Has Been All The Time Preparing For What Is To Follow, And In Autumn It Is The Glory Of The Field, And Only The Frost Lays It Low. So There Are Many People Who Must Live Forty Or Fifty Years, And Have The Crude Sap Of Their Natural Dispositions Changed And Sweetened Before The Blossoming Time Can Come; But Their Lives Have Not Been Wasted.

There's Not Much Practical Christianity In The Man Who Lives On Better Terms With Angels And Seraphs Than With His Children, Servants And Neighbours.

It Is Defeat That Turns Bone To Flint; It Is Defeat That Turns Gristle To Muscle; It Is Defeat That Makes Men Invincible. Do Not Then Be Afraid Of Defeat. You Are Never So Near To Victory As When Defeated In A Good Cause.

All Our Other Faculties Seem To Have The Brown Touch Of Earth Upon Them, But The Imagination Carries The Very Livery Of Heaven, And Is God's Self In The Soul.

All Things In The Natural World Symbolize God, Yet None Of Them Speak Of Him But In Broken And Imperfect Words. High Above All He Sits, Sublimer Than Mountains, Grander Than Storms, Sweeter Than Blossoms And Tender Fruits, Nobler Than Lords, Truer Than Parents, More Loving Than Lovers. His Feet Tread The Lowest Places Of The Earth; But His Head Is Above All Glory, And Everywhere He Is Supreme.