I Am Persuaded That There Is No

When We Read, We Fancy We Could Be Martyrs; When We Come To Act, We Cannot Bear A Provoking Word.

Our Infinite Obligations To God Do Not Fill Our Hearts Half As Much As A Petty Uneasiness Of Our Own; Nor His Infinite Perfections As Much As Our Smallest Wants.

Glory Darts Her Soul-pervading Ray On Thrones And Cottages, Regardless Still Of All The Artificial Nice Distinctions Vain Human Customs Make.

Wisdom Views With An Indifferent Eye All Finite Joys, All Blessings Born To Die.

The Abuse Of Terms Has At All Times Been An Evil.