Light Is, Perhaps, The Most Wonderful Of

It Flows Through Old Hushed Egypt And Its Sands, Like Some Grave Mighty Thought Threading A Dream, And Times And Things, As In That Vision, Seem Keeping Along It Their Eternal Stands.

Christmas Is The Glorious Time Of Great Too-much.

Tears Hinder Sorrow From Becoming Despair.

Whatever Evil Befalls Us, We Ought To Ask Ourselves... How We Can Turn It Into Good. So Shall We Take Occasion, From One Bitter Root, To Raise Perhaps Many Flowers.

For The Most Part, We Should Pray Rather In Aspiration Than Petition, Rather By Hoping Than Requesting; In Which Spirit Also We May Breathe A Devout Wish For A Blessing On Others Upon Occasions When It Might Be Presumptuous To Beg It.