The Monkey Is An Organized

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!

Gratitude Is The Fairest Blossom Which Springs From The Soul.

Make Men Large And Strong And Tyranny Will Bankrupt Itself In Making Shackles For Them.

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees, And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy. The Lonely Pine On The Mountain-top Waves Its Sombre Boughs And Cries, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Little Meadow Violet Lifts Its Cup Of Blue, And Whispers With Its Perfumed Breath, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Grain In A Thousand Fields Rustles In The Wind, And Makes Answer, 'thou Art My Sun.' So God Sits Effulgent In Heaven, Not For A Favored Few, But For The Universe Of Life; And There Is No Creature So Poor Or So Low That He May Not Look Up With Childish Confidence And Say, 'my Father, Thou Art Mine.

Refinement That Carries Us Away From Our Fellow-men Is Not God's Refinement.