God's Grace Is The Oil That Fills

As Warmth Makes Even Glaciers Trickle, And Opens Streams In The Ribs Of Frozen Mountains, So The Heart Knows The Full Flow And Life Of Its Grief Only When It Begins To Melt And Pass Away.

What A Mother Sings To The Cradle Goes All The Way Down To The Coffin.

Sorrows Are Gardeners: They Plant Flowers Along Waste Places, And Teach Vines To Cover Barren Heaps.

Mirth Is The Sweet Wine Of Human Life. It Should Be Offered Sparkling With Zestful Life Unto God.

We Ought To Be Ten Times As Hungry For Knowledge As For Food For The Body.