Lord, What Wilt Thou Have Me To

The Hope Of Immortality Makes Heroes Of Cowards.

The Cry Of Distress Lays Hold Of Our Lord's Omnipotence. It Is As Easy For God To Supply Thy Greatest As Thy Smallest Wants, Even As It Was Within His Power To Form A System Or An Atom, To Create A Blazing Sun As To Kindle The Fire-fly's Lamp.

If You Find Yourself Loving Any Pleasure More Than Your Prayers, Any Book Better Than The Bible, Any House Better Than The House Of The Lord, Any Table Better Than The Lord's Table, Any Persons Better Than Christ, Or Any Indulgence Better Than The Hope Of Heaven – Be Alarmed.

Every Object In Nature Is Impressed With God's Footsteps, And Every Day Repeats The Wonders Of Creation. There Is Not An Object, Be It Pebble Or Pearl, Weed Or Rose, The Flower-spangled Sward Beneath, Or The Star-spangled Sky Above, Not A Worm Or An Angel, A Drop Of Water Or A Boundless Ocean, In Which Intelligence May Not Discern, And Piety Adore, The Providence Of Him Who Took Our Nature That He Might Save Our Souls.

Prayer Flies Where The Eagle Never Flew.