The Church Is No More Religion Than

A Babe Is A Mother's Anchor.

You Have Seen A Ship Out On The Bay, Swinging With The Tide, And Seeming As If It Would Follow It; And Yet It Cannot, For Down Beneath The Water It Is Anchored. So Many A Soul Sways Toward Heaven, But Cannot Ascend Thither, Because It Is Anchored To Some Secret Sin.

We Have The Promises Of God As Thick As Daisies In Summer Meadows, That Death, Which Men Most Fear, Shall Be To Us The Most Blessed Of Experiences, If We Trust In Him. Death Is Unclasping; Joy, Breaking Out In The Desert; The Heart, Come To Its Blossoming Time! Do We Call It Dying When The Bud Bursts Into Flower?

Where All Of The Man Is What Property He Owns, It Does Not Take Long To Annihilate Him.

Books Are The Windows Through Which The Soul Looks Out.