Sorrows, As Storms, Bring Down The Clouds

Happiness Is Not The End Of Life: Character Is.

Many Men Build As Cathedrals Are Built-the Part Nearest The Ground Finished, But That Part Which Soars Toward Heaven, The Turrets And The Spires, Forever Incomplete.

It Is The Color Which Love Wears, And Cheerfulness, And Joy--these Three. It Is The Light In The Window Of The Face By Which The Heart Signifies To Father, Husband, Or Friend That It Is At Home And Waiting.

Men Are Not Put Into This World To Be Everlastingly Played On By The Harping Fingers Of Joy.

There Are Joys Which Long To Be Ours. God Sends Ten Thousands Truths, Which Come About Us Like Birds Seeking Inlet; But We Are Shut Up To Them, And So They Bring Us Nothing, But Sit And Sing Awhile Upon The Roof, And Then Fly Away.