How Many Would Die Did Not Hope

Virtue Dwells At The Head Of A River, To Which We Cannot Get But By Rowing Against The Stream.

Show Me The Man Who Would Go To Heaven Alone If He Could, And In That Man I Will Show You One Who Will Never Be Admitted Into Heaven.

Of All Trees, I Observe God Hath Chosen The Vine, A Low Plant That Creeps Upon The Helpful Wall; Of All Beasts, The Soft And Patient Lamb; Of All Fowls, The Mild And Guileless Dove. Christ Is The Rose Of The Field, And The Lily Of The Valley. When God Appeared To Moses, It Was Not In The Lofty Cedar Nor The Sturdy Oak Nor The Spreading Palm; But In A Bush, A Humble, Slender, Abject Shrub; As If He Would, By These Elections, Check The Conceited Arrogance Of Man.

Negligence Is The Rust Of The Soul That Corrodes Through All Her Best Resolves.

Fear, If It Be Not Immoderate, Puts A Guard About Us That Does Watch And Defend Us; But Credulity Keeps Us Naked, And Lays Us Open To All The Sly Assaults Of Ill-intending Men: It Was A Virtue When Man Was In His Innocence; But Since His Fall, It Abuses Those That Own It.