Heav'n Is Not Always Got By Running.

Yet, Sluggard, Wake, And Gull Thy Soul No More With Earth's False Pleasures, And The World's Delight, Whose Fruit Is Fair And Pleasing To The Sight, But Sour In Taste, False As The Putrid Core: Thy Flaring Glass Is Gems At Her Half Light; She Makes Thee Seeming Rich, But Truly Poor: She Boasts A Kernel, And Bestows A Shell; Performs An Inch Of Her Fair-promis'd Ell: Her Words Protest A Heav'n; Her Works Produce A Hell.

Blessedness Is Promised To The Peacemaker, Not To The Conqueror.

Afflictions Clarify The Soul.

Wouldst Thou Know The Lawfulness Of The Action Which Thou Desirest To Undertake, Let Thy Devotion Recommend It To Divine Blessing: If It Be Lawful, Thou Shalt Perceive Thy Heart Encouraged By Thy Prayer; If Unlawful, Thou Shalt Find Thy Prayer Discouraged By Thy Heart. That Action Is Not Warrantable Which Either Blushes To Beg A Blessing, Or, Having Succeeded, Dares Not Present A Thanksgiving.

Thy Ignorance In Unrevealed Mysteries Is The Mother Of A Saving Faith, And Thy Understanding In Revealed Truths Is The Mother Of A Sacred Knowledge; Understand Not Therefore That Thou Mayest Believe, But Believe That Thou Mayest Understand; Understanding Is The Wages Of A Lively Faith And Faith Is The Reward Of An Humble Ignorance.