The Ground Of All Great

See The Gold Sunshine Patching, And Streaming And Streaking Across The Gray-green Oaks; And Catching, By Its Soft Brown Beard, The Moss.

Joys Are Bubble-like--what Makes Them Bursts Them Too.

Naught But God Can Satisfy The Soul.

Any Heart Turned Godward Feels More Joyin One Short Hour Of Prayer, Than E'er Was Raisedby All The Feasts Of Earth Since Its Foundation.

What Men Call Accident Is God's Own Part.