A Lie Is Like A Snow-ball; The

Dearest Jesus, Holy Child, Make Thee A Bed, Soft, Undefiled, Within My Heart, That It May Be A Quiet Chamber Kept For Thee.

I Hate Myself, That I Cannot Believe It So Constantly And Surely As I Should; But No Human Creature Can Rightly Know How Mercifully God Is Inclined Toward Those That Steadfastly Believe In Christ.

Poverty Hath Slain A Thousand, But Riches Have Slain Ten Thousand. They Are Very Uncertain, They Promise That Which They Cannot Perform, Neither Can They Afford A Contented Mind.

Grace Remits Sin, And Peace Quiets The Conscience. Sin And Conscience Torment Us, But Christ Has Overcome These Fiends Now And Forever.

Against The Flying Ball No Valor Avails.