We Live In An Age Which Must

The Artful Injury, Whose Venomed Dart Scarce Wounds The Hearing, While It Stabs The Heart.

Glory Darts Her Soul-pervading Ray On Thrones And Cottages, Regardless Still Of All The Artificial Nice Distinctions Vain Human Customs Make.

Nothing Is More Common Than To Mistake The Sign For The Thing Itself; Nor Is Any Practice More Frequent Than That Of Endeavoring To Acquire The Exterior Mark, Without Once Thinking To Labor After The Interior Grace.

Anger Is The Common Refuge Of Insignificance. People Who Feel Their Character To Be Slight, Hope To Give It Weight By Inflation: But The Blown Bladder At Its Fullest Distention Is Still Empty.

We Do Not Really Know How To Forgive Until We Know What It Is To Be Forgiven. Therefore We Should Be Glad That We Can Be Forgiven By Others. It Is Our Forgiveness Of One Another That Makes The Love Of Jesus Manifest In Our Lives, For In Forgiving One Another We Act Towards One Another As He Has Acted Towards Us.