Rage Is For Little Wrongs; Despair Is

Luxury! More Perilous To Youth Than Storms Or Quicksand, Poverty Or Chains.

Yes, Thou Art Ever Present, Power Divine; Not Circumscribed By Time, Nor Fixed By Space, Confined To Altars, Nor To Temples Bound. In Wealth, In Want, In Freedom, Or In Chains, In Dungeons Or On Thrones, The Faithful Find Thee.

The Secret Heart Is Fair Devotion's Temple; There The Saint, Even On That Living Altar, Lights The Flame Of Purest Sacrifice, Which Burns Unseen, Not Unaccepted.

In Agony Or Danger, No Nature Is Atheist. The Mind That Knows Not What To Fly To, Flies To God.

If Faith Produce No Works, I See That Faith Is Not A Living Tree. Thus Faith And Works Together Grow, No Separate Life They Never Can Know. They're Soul And Body, Hand And Heart, What God Hath Joined, Let No Man Part.