God's Providence Is On The Side Of

What Profusion Is There In His Work! When Trees Blossom There Is Not A Single Breastpin, But A Whole Bosom Full Of Gems; And Of Leaves They Have So Many Suits That They Can Throw Them Away To The Winds All Summer Long. What Unnumbered Cathedrals Has He Reared In The Forest Shades, Vast And Grand, Full Of Curious Carvings, And Haunted Evermore By Tremulous Music; And In The Heavens Above, How Do Stars Seem To Have Flown Out Of His Hand Faster Than Sparks Out Of A Mighty Forge!

I Think Half The Troubles For Which Men Go Slouching In Prayer To God Are Caused By Their Intolerable Pride. Many Of Our Cares Are But A Morbid Way Of Looking At Our Privileges. We Let Our Blessings Get Mouldy, And Then Call Them Curses.

Our Earthly Loves Are But So Many Silver Steps Leading Us Up To The Great Golden Love Of God.

I Have Great Hope Of A Wicked Man, Slender Hope Of A Mean One. A Wicked Man May Be Converted And Become A Prominent Saint. A Mean Man Ought To Be Converted Six Or Seven Times, One Right After The Other, To Give Him A Fair Start And Put Him On An Equality With A Bold, Wicked Man.

There Is Not On Earth So Base A Knave As The Man Who Wins The Love Of A Woman When He Knows That He Cannot Or Ought Not To Requite It.