There Is No Slave Out Of Heaven

There Is A Dew In One Flower And Not In Another, Because One Opens In Cup And Takes It In, While The Other Closes Itself, And The Drops Run Off. God Rains His Goodness And Mercy As Widespread As The Dew, And If We Lack Them, It Is Because We Will Not Open Our Hearts To Receive Them.

Gratitude Is The Fairest Blossom Which Springs From The Soul.

Loving Is Like Music. Some Instruments Can Go Up Two Octaves, Some Four, And Some All The Way From Black Thunder To Sharp Lightning. As Some Of Them Are Susceptible Only Of Melody, So Some Hearts Can Sing But One Song Of Love, While Others Will Fun In A Full Choral Harmony.

The First Hour Of The Morning Is The Rudder Of The Day. It Is A Blessed Baptism Which Gives The First Waking Thoughts Into The Bosom Of God.

Our Yearnings Are Homesicknesses For Heaven; Our Sighings Are For God, Just As Children That Cry Themselves Asleep Away From Home, And Sob In Their Slumber, Know Not That They Sob For Their Parents. The Soul's Inarticulate Moanings Are The Affections Yearning For The Infinite, And Having No One To Tell Them What It Is That Ails Them.