Pleasure Is By Much The Most Laborious

To Those Who Know Thee Not, No Words Can Paint! And Those Who Know Thee, Know All Words Are Faint!

Repentance Is Not Completed By A Single Act, It Must Be Incorporated Into Our Mind, Till It Become A Fixed State, Arising From A Continual Sense Of Our Need Of It.

Subduing And Subdued, The Petty Strife, Which Clouds The Colour Of Domestic Life; The Sober Comfort, All The Peace Which Springs From The Large Aggregate Of Little Things; On These Small Cares Of Daughter, Wife Or Friend, The Almost Sacred Joys Of Home Depend.

Nothing Is More Common Than To Mistake The Sign For The Thing Itself; Nor Is Any Practice More Frequent Than That Of Endeavoring To Acquire The Exterior Mark, Without Once Thinking To Labor After The Interior Grace.

The Soul On Earth Is An Immortal Guest, Compelled To Starve At An Unreal Feast: A Spark, Which Upward Tends By Nature's Force: A Stream Diverted From Its Parent Source; A Drop Dissever'd From The Boundless Sea; A Moment, Parted From Eternity; A Pilgrim Panting For The Rest To Come; An Exile, Anxious For His Native Home.