The Smoking Flax Before It Burst To

How Wonderful Is The Human Voice! It Is Indeed The Organ Of The Soul. The Intellect Of Man Is Enthroned Visibly On His Forehead And In His Eye, And The Heart Of Man Is Written On His Countenance, But The Soul, The Soul Reveals Itself In The Voice Only.

Softly The Evening Came /with The Sunset/.

We Often Excuse Our Own Want Of Philanthropy By Giving The Name Of Fanaticism To The More Ardent Zeal Of Others.

Were A Star Quenched On High,for Ages Would Its Light,still Travelling Downward From The Sky,shine On Our Mortal Sight. So When A Great Man Dies,for Years Beyond Our Ken,the Light He Leaves Behind Him Liesupon The Paths Of Men.

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