Philosophy Can Add To Our Happiness In

For Praise Too Dearly Lov'd, Or Warmly Sought, Enfeebles All Internal Strength Of Thought; And The Weak Soul Within Itself Unblest, Leans For All Pleasure On Another's Breast.

Near Yonder Copse, Where Once The Garden Smil'd, And Still Where Many A Garden Flower Grows Wild, There, Where A Few Torn Shrubs The Place Disclose, The Village Preacher's Modest Mansion Rose. A Man He Was To All The Country Dear, And Passing Rich With Forty Pounds A Year; Remote From Town's He Ran His Godly Race, Nor E'er Had Chang'd Nor Wish'd To Change His Place; Unskilful He To Fawn, Or Seek For Power, By Doctrines Fashion'd To The Varying Hour; Far Other Aims His Heart Had Learn'd To Prize. More Bent To Raise The Wretched Than To Rise.

Fine Declamation Does Not Consist In Flowery Periods, Delicate Allusions Of Musical Cadences, But In A Plain, Open, Loose Style, Where The Periods Are Long And Obvious, Where The Same Thought Is Often Exhibited In Several Points Of View.

We Are All Sure Of Two Things, At Least; We Shall Suffer And We Shall All Die.

You Can Preach A Better Sermon With Your Life Than With Your Lips.