To hang our head ostensibly,And subsequent to findThat such was not the postureOf our immortal mind,Affords the sly presumptionThat, in so dense a fuzz,You, too, take cobweb attitudesUpon a plane of gauze !

What shall we do my darling, when trial grows more, and more, when the dim, lone light expires, and it's dark, so very dark, and we wander, and know not where, and cannot get out of the forest - whose is the hand to help us, and to lead, and forever guide us? ... Where do you think I've strayed and from what new errand returned. I have come from to and fro, and walking up and down the same place that Satan hailed from when God asked where he'd been.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think.

The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly - and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn't think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.

It is true that the unknown is the largest need of the intellect, though for it, no one thinks to thank God.

When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth "for His mercy endureth forever," with confiding revulsion.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is To meet an antique book In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take, And warming in our own, A passage back, or two, to make To times when he was young. His quaint opinions to inspect, His knowledge to unfold On what concerns our mutual mind, The literature of old...

I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.

The Service without Hope Is tenderest, I think-- ... There is no Diligence like that That knows not an Until