Faultless To A Fault.

Escape Me? Never, Beloved! While I Am I, And You Are You.

Autumn Wins You Best By This Its Mute Appeal To Sympathy For Its Decay.

God Smiles As He Has Always Smiled; Ere Suns And Moons Could Wax And Wane, Ere Stars Were Thundergirt, Or Piled The Heavens, God Thought On Me His Child; Ordained A Life For Me, Arrayed Its Circumstances, Every One To The Minutest; Ay, God Said This Head This Hand Should Rest Upon Thus, Ere He Fashioned Star Or Sun.

For The Preacher's Merit Or Demerit, It Were To Be Wished That The Flaws Were Fewer In The Earthen Vessel, Holding Treasure, But The Main Thing Is, Does It Hold Good Measure Heaven Soon Sets Right All Other Matters!

How Strange Now, Looks The Life He Makes Us Lead; So Free We Seem, So Fettered Fast We Are!