The Thankful Heart Will Find, In Every

Very Few Men Acquire Wealth In Such A Manner As To Receive Pleasure From It. Just As Long As There Is The Enthusiasm Of The Chase They Enjoy It; But When They Begin To Look Around, And Think Of Settling Down, They Find That That Part By Which Joy Enters Is Dead In Them. They Have Spent Their Lives In Heaping Up Colossal Piles Of Treasure, Which Stand, At The End, Like The Pyramids In The Desert Sands, Holding Only The Dust Of Kings.

Only Have Enough Of Little Virtues And Common Fidelities, And You Need Not Mourn Because You Are Neither A Hero Nor A Saint.

I Think Half The Troubles For Which Men Go Slouching In Prayer To God Are Caused By Their Intolerable Pride. Many Of Our Cares Are But A Morbid Way Of Looking At Our Privileges. We Let Our Blessings Get Mouldy, And Then Call Them Curses.

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.

There Is A Dew In One Flower And Not In Another, Because One Opens In Cup And Takes It In, While The Other Closes Itself, And The Drops Run Off. God Rains His Goodness And Mercy As Widespread As The Dew, And If We Lack Them, It Is Because We Will Not Open Our Hearts To Receive Them.