There Is No Greater Crime Than To

The Most Miserable Pettifogging In The World Is That Of A Man In The Court Of His Own Consciences.

There Can Be No Barrenness In Full Summer. The Very Sand Will Yield Something. Rocks Will Have Mosses, And Every Rift Will Have Its Wind-flower, And Every Crevice A Leaf; While From The Fertile Soil Will Be Reared A Gorgeous Troop Of Growths, That Will Carry Their Life In Ten Thousand Forms, But All With Praise To God. And So It Is When The Soul Knows Its Summer. Love Redeems Its Weakness, Clothes Its Barrenness, Enriches Its Poverty, And Makes Its Very Desert To Bud And Blossom As The Rose.

As Warmth Makes Even Glaciers Trickle, And Opens Streams In The Ribs Of Frozen Mountains, So The Heart Knows The Full Flow And Life Of Its Grief Only When It Begins To Melt And Pass Away.

Your Greatest Pleasure Is That Which Rebounds From Hearts That You Have Made Glad.

We Are Not To Make The Ideas Of Contentment And Aspiration Quarrel, For God Made Them Fast Friends. A Man May Aspire, And Yet Be Quite Content Until It Is Time To Raise; And Both Flying And Resting Are But Parts Of One Contentment. The Very Fruit Of The Gospel Is Aspiration. It Is To The Heart What Spring Is To The Earth, Making Every Root, And Bud, And Bough Desire To Be More.