What I Spent, I Had; What I

Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety-all This Rust Of Life Ought To Be Scoured Off By The Oil Of Mirth. Mirth Is God's Medicine.

The Philosophy Of One Century Is The Common Sense Of The Next.

We Should Live And Labor In Our Time That What Came To Us As A Seed May Go To The Next Generation As Blossom, And What Came To Us As Blossom, May Go To Them As Fruit. This Is What We Mean By Progress.

Nature Is A Vast Repository Of Manly Enjoyments.

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.