Perhaps God Does With His Heavenly Garden

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.

The Mental Powers Acquire Their Full Robustness When The Cheek Loses Its Ruddy Hue, And The Limbs Their Elastic Step; And Pale Thought Sits On Manly Brows, And The Watchman, As He Walks His Rounds, Sees The Student's Lamp Burning Far Into The Silent Night.

Religion Is The Mortar That Binds Society Together; The Granite Pedestal Of Liberty; The Strong Backbone Of The Social System.

The New Novel Is Sought More Eagerly, And Devoured More Greedily, The New Testament.

As In Nature, As In The Arts, So In Grace; It Is Rough Treatment That Gives Souls As Well As Stones Their Lustre; The More The Diamond Is Cut The Brighter It Sparkles; And In What Seems Hard Dealing, Their God Has No End In View But To Perfect His People's Graces. Our Father, And And Kindest Of Fathers, He Afflicts Not Willingly; He Sends Tribulations, But Hear St Paul Tell Their Purpose, - "tribulation Worketh Patience, And Patience Experience, And Experience Hope."