Men Must Work, And Women Must Weep.

Every Winter, When The Great Sun Has Turned His Face Away, The Earth Goes Down Into A Vale Of Grief, And Fasts, And Weeps, And Shrouds Herself In Sables, Leaving Her Wedding-garlands To Decay- Then Leaps In Spring To His Returning Kisses.

All Who Have Travelled Through The Delicious Scenery Of North Devon Must Needs Know The Little White Town Of Bideford, Which Slopes Upwards From Its Broad Tide-river Paved With Yellow Sands, And Many-arched Old Bridge, Where Salmon Wait For Autumn Floods, Toward The Pleasant Upland On The West.

The Health Of A Church Depends Not Merely On The Creed Which It Professes, Not Even On The Wisdom And Holiness Of A Few Great Ecclesiastics, But On The Faith And Virtue Of Its Individual Members.

You Must Not Say That This Cannot Be, Or That That Is Contrary To Nature. You Do Not Know What Nature Is, Or What She Can Do; And Nobody Knows; Not Even Sir Roderick Murchison, Or Professor Huxley, Or Mr. Darwin, Or Professor Faraday, Or Mr. Grove, Or Any Other Of The Great Men Whom Good Boys Are Taught To Respect. They Are Very Wise Men; And You Must Listen Respectfully To All They Say: But Even If They Should Say, Which I Am Sure They Never Would, 'that Cannot Exist. That Is Contrary To Nature,' You Must Wait A Little, And See; For Perhaps Even They May Be Wrong.

Do What Thou Dost As If The Earth Were Heaven, And Thy Last Day The Day Of Judgment.