Conscience Is Its Own Readiest Accuser.

A Man's Love For His Native Land Lies Deeper Than Any Logical Expression, Among Those Pulses Of The Heart Which Vibrate To The Sanctities Of Home, And To The Thoughts Which Leap Up From His Father's Graves.

The Universe Is A Vast System Of Exchange. Every Artery Of It Is In Motion, Throbbing With Reciprocity, From The Planet To The Rotting Leaf.

Why, Man Of Idleness, Labor Has Rocked You In The Cradle, And Nourished Your Pampered Life; Without It, The Woven Silk And The Wool Upon Your Bank Would Be In The Shepherd's Fold. For The Meanest Thing That Ministers To Human Want, Save The Air Of Heaven, Man Is Indebted To Toil; And Even The Air, In God's Wise Ordination, Is Breathed With Labor.

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

We May Learn By Practice Such Things Upon Earth As Shall Be Of Use To Us In Heaven. Piety, Unostentatious Piety, Is Never Out Of Place.