How Narrow Our Souls Become When Absorbed

The Look Of A King Is Itself A Deed.

Jesus Is The Purest Among The Mighty, And The Mightiest Among The Pure, Who, With His Pierced Hand Has Raised Empires From Their Foundations, Turned The Stream Of History From Its Old Channel, And Still Continues To Rule And Guide The Ages

I Would Rather Dwell In The Dim Fog Of Superstition Than In Air Rarefied To Nothing By The Air-pump Of Unbelief-in Which The Panting Breast Expires, Vainly And Convulsively Gasping For Breath.

The Darkness Of Death Is Like The Evening Twilight; It Makes All Objects Appear More Lovely To The Dying.

As A Man Grows Older It Is Harder And Harder To Frighten Him.