Nothing Dies So Hard, Or Rallies So

Like The Cellar-growing Vine Is The Christian Who Lives In The Darkness And Bondage Of Fear. But Let Him Go Forth, With The Liberty Of God, Into The Light Of Love, And He Will Be Like The Plant In The Field, Healthy, Robust, And Joyful.

The Clearest Window That Ever Was Fashioned If It Is Barred By Spiders' Webs, And Hung Over With Carcasses Of Insects, So That The Sunlight Has Forgotten To Find Its Way Through, Of What Use Can It Be? Now, The Church Is God's Window; And If It Is So Obscured By Errors That Its Light Is Darkness, How Great Is That Darkness!

Undoubtedly We Render Our Consciences Callous By Evil Indulgences; But We Cannot Entirely Subdue That Still, Small Voice.

The Pen Is The Tongue Of The Hand; A Silent Utterer Of Words For The Eye.

Every Tomorrow Has Two Handles. We Can Take Hold Of It With The Handle Of Anxiety Or The Handle Of Faith. We Should Live For The Future, And Yet Should Find Our Life In The Fidelities Of The Present; The Last Is Only The Method Of The First.