Death Is Not An End. It Is

The Soul Is A Temple; And God Is Silently Building It By Night And By Day. Precious Thoughts Are Building It; Disinterested Love Is Building It; All-penetrating Faith Is Building It.

There Are Many Persons Of Combative Tendencies, Who Read For Ammunition, And Dig Out Of The Bible Iron For Balls. They Read, And They Find Nitre And Charcoal And Sulphur For Powder. They Read, And They Find Cannon. They Read, And They Make Portholes And Embrasures. And If A Man Does Not Believe As They Do, They Look Upon Him As An Enemy, And Let Fly The Bible At Him To Demolish Him. So Men Turn The Word Of God Into A Vast Arsenal, Filled With All Manner Of Weapons, Offensive And Defensive.

There Are Materials Enough In Every Man's Mind To Make A Hell There.

Spreading Christianity Abroad Is Sometimes An Excuse For Not Having It At Home.

The Slave Labors, But With No Cheer - It Is Not The Road To Respectability, It Will Honor Him With No Citizens' Trust, It Brings No Bread To His Family, No Grain To His Garner, No Leisure In After-days, No Books Or Papers To His Children. It Opens No School-house Door, Builds No Church, Rears For Him No Factory, Lays No Keel, Fills No Bank, Earns No Acres. With Sweat And Toil And Ignorance He Consumes His Life, To Pour The Earnings Into Channels From Which He Does No Drink, Into Hands That Never Honor Him. But Perpetually Rob And Often Torment.