I Envy Thee Not Thy Faith, Which

We Are Like The Herb Which Flourisheth Most When It Is Most Trampled On.

It Is A Great Disgrace To Religion, To Imagine That It Is An Enemy To Mirth And Cheerfulness, And A Severe Exacter Of Pensive Looks And Solemn Faces.

Oh, On That Day, That Wrathful Day, When Man To Judgment Wakes Front Clay, Be Thou, O Christ, The Sinner's Stay, Though Heaven And Earth Shall Pass Away.

Steady Of Heart And Stout Of Hand.

He That Would Soothe Sorrow Must Not Argue On The Vanity Of The Most Deceitful Hopes.