A Man Who Does Not Love Praise

Some People Are So Dry That You Might Soak Them In A Joke For A Month And It Would Not Get Through Their Skins.

Oh, Ye Infidel Philosophers, Teach Me How To Find Joy In Sorrow, Strength In Weakness, And Light In Darkest Days; How To Bear Buffeting And Scorn; How To Welcome Death, And To Pass Through It Into The Sphere Of Life, And This Not For Me Only, But For The Whole World That Groans And Travails In Pain; And Till You Can Do This, Speak Not To Me Of A Better Revelation Than The Bible.

That Energy Which Makes A Child Hard To Manage Is The Energy Which Afterwards Makes Him A Manager Of Life.

Amid The Discords Of This Life, It Is Blessed To Think Of Heaven, Where God Draws After Him An Everlasting Train Of Music; For All Thoughts Are Harmonious And All Feelings Vocal, And So There Is Round About His Feet Eternal Melody.

Earthly Love Is A Brief And Penurious Stream, Which Only Flows In Spring, With A Long Summer Drought. The Change From A Burning Desert, Treeless, Springless, Drear, To Green Fields And Blooming Orchards In June, Is Slight In Comparison With That From The Desert Of This World's Affection To The Garden Of God, Where There Is Perpetual, Tropical Luxuriance Of Blessed Love.