Obedience Is The Fruit Of Faith.

The Rose Saith In The Dewy Morn, I Am Most Fair; Yet All My Loveliness Is Born Upon A Thorn.

For There Is No Friend Like A Sister In Calm Or Stormy Weather; To Cheer One On The Tedious Way, To Fetch One If One Goes Astray, To Lift One If One Totters Down, To Strengthen Whilst One Stands.

My Life Is Like A Faded Leaf, My Harvest Dwindled To A Husk: Truly My Life Is Void And Brief And Tedious In The Barren Dusk; My Life Is Like A Frozen Thing, No Bud Nor Greenness Can I See: Yet Rise It Shall - The Sap Of Spring; O Jesus, Rise In Me.

Gone Were But The Winter, Come Were But The Spring, I Would Go To A Covert Where The Birds Sing; Where In The Whitethorn Singeth A Thrush, And A Robin Sings In The Holly-bush. Full Of Fresh Scents Are The Budding Boughs Arching High Over A Cool Green House: Full Of Sweet Scents, And Whispering Air Which Sayeth Softly: We Spread No Snare; Here Dwell In Safety, Here Dwell Alone, With A Clear Stream And A Mossy Stone. Here The Sun Shineth Most Shadily; Here Is Heard An Echo Of The Far Sea, Though Far Off It Be.

A Man Is Ever Apt To Contemplate Himself Out Of All Proportion To His Surroundings.