O Lord God, We Pray That We

The Religion That Fosters Intolerance Needs Another Christ To Die For It.

Sorrow Makes Men Sincere.

Earthly Love Is A Brief And Penurious Stream, Which Only Flows In Spring, With A Long Summer Drought. The Change From A Burning Desert, Treeless, Springless, Drear, To Green Fields And Blooming Orchards In June, Is Slight In Comparison With That From The Desert Of This World's Affection To The Garden Of God, Where There Is Perpetual, Tropical Luxuriance Of Blessed Love.

There's Not Much Practical Christianity In The Man Who Lives On Better Terms With Angels And Seraphs Than With His Children, Servants And Neighbours.

Our Days Are A Kaleidoscope. Every Instant A Change Takes Place In The Contents. New Harmonies, New Contrasts, New Combinations Of Every Sort. Nothing Ever Happens Twice Alike. The Most Familiar People Stand Each Moment In Some New Relation To Each Other, To Their Work, To Surrounding Objects. The Most Tranquil House, With The Most Serene Inhabitants, Living Upon The Utmost Regularity Of System, Is Yet Exemplifying Infinite Diversities.