If Faith Produce No Works, I See

The Soul On Earth Is An Immortal Guest.

Eternity Is A Depth Which No Geometry Can Measure, No Arithmetic Calculate, No Imagination Conceive, No Rhetoric Describe.

Outward Attacks And Troubles Rather Fix Than Unsettle The Christian, As Tempests From Without Only Serve To Root The Oak Faster; While An Inward Canker Will Gradually Rot And Decay It.

I Am Persuaded That There Is No Affection Of The Human Heart More Exquisitely Pure, Than That Which Is Felt By A Grateful Son Towards A Mother.

Where Bright Imagination Reigns, The Fine-wrought Spirit Feels Acuter Pains.