It Is Sometimes Of God's Mercy That

A Person Without A Sense Of Humor Is Like A Wagon Without Springs. It's Jolted By Every Pebble On The Road.

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees, And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy. The Lonely Pine On The Mountain-top Waves Its Sombre Boughs And Cries, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Little Meadow Violet Lifts Its Cup Of Blue, And Whispers With Its Perfumed Breath, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Grain In A Thousand Fields Rustles In The Wind, And Makes Answer, 'thou Art My Sun.' So God Sits Effulgent In Heaven, Not For A Favored Few, But For The Universe Of Life; And There Is No Creature So Poor Or So Low That He May Not Look Up With Childish Confidence And Say, 'my Father, Thou Art Mine.

Expedients Are For The Hour, But Principles Are For The Ages.

Troubles Are Often The Tools By Which God Fashions Us For Better Things.

It Is Defeat That Turns Bone To Flint, Gristle To Muscle, And Makes Men Invincible.