The Making Of Friends, Who

Wise Anger Is Like Fire From A Flint: There Is Great Ado To Get It Out; And When It Does Come, It Is Out Again Immediately.

In The Pure Mathematics We Contemplate Absolute Truths Which Existed In The Divine Mind Before The Morning Stars Sang Together, And Which Will Continue To Exist There When The Last Of Their Radiant Host Shall Have Fallen From Heaven.

I Know I Am Only One, But I Am One, And Just Because I'm One Should Not Stop Me From

No Gilded Dome Swells From The Lowly Roof To Catch The Morning Or Evening Beam; But The Love And Gratitude Of United America Settle Upon It In One Eternal Sunshine. From Beneath That Humble Roof Went Forth The Intrepid And Unselfish Warrior, The Magistrate Who Knew No Glory But His Country's Good; To That He Returned, Happiest When His Work Was Done. There He Lived In Noble Simplicity, There He Died In Glory And Peace.

The Church Itself Has Got To Go Outside Of Its Own Borders And Carry The Gospel To Ev'ry Creature, Or It Is No Church Of Christ; And Any Mutual Improvement Club Which Thinks That By Reading Its Shakspearo, Or By Acting Its Pretty Tableaux, Or By Having. This Or That Little Reading From Spenser And From Chaucer, It Is Going To Lift Itself Up Into Any Higher Order Of Culture Or Life, Is Wholly Mistaken, Unless As An Essential Part Of Its Duty, It Goes Out Into The World, Finds Those That Are Falling Down, And Lifts Them Up To The Majesty Of Freemen, Who Are Sons Of God.