My Soul Is Full Of Longing For

Sweet As The Tender Fragrance That Survives, When Martyred Flowers Breathe Out Their Little Lives, Sweet As A Song That Once Consoled Our Pain, But Never Will Be Sung To Us Again, Is They Remembrance. Now The Hour Of Rest Hath Come To Thee. Sleep, Darling: It Is Best.

For Next To Being A Great Poet Is The Power Of Understanding One.

Enthusiasm Begets Enthusiasm.

Difficulty On The Way To Victory Is Opportunity For God To Work

A Torn Jacket Is Soon Mended; But Hard Words Bruise The Heart Of A Child.