This Is The Essential Evil Of Vice:

There Is A Sweet Anguish Springing Up In Our Bosoms When A Child's Face Brightens Under The Shadow Of The Waiting Angel. There Is An Autumnal Fitness When Age Gives Up The Ghost; And When The Saint Dies There Is A Tearful Victory.

Objects Close To The Eye Shut Out Much Larger Objects On The Horizon; And Splendors Born Only Of The Earth Eclipse The Stars. So A Man Sometimes Covers Up The Entire Disk Of Eternity With A Dollar, And Quenches Transcendent Glories With A Little Shining Dust.

Christianity Has Made Martyrdom Sublime, And Sorrow Triumphant.

It Is Not Enjoined Upon Us To Forget, But We Are Told To Forgive, Our Enemies.

It Is A Most Fearful Fact To Think Of, That In Every Heart There Is Some Secret Spring That Would Be Weak At The Touch Of Temptation, And That Is Liable To Be Assailed. Fearful, And Yet Salutary To Think Of; For The Thought May Serve To Keep Our Moral Nature Braced. It Warns Us That We Can Never Stand At Ease, Or Lie Down In This Field Of Life, Without Sentinels Of Watchfulness And Campfires Of Prayer.