“Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e’en in age, and at our latest day.”

Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.

No traveler e’er reached that blest abode who found not thorns and briers in his road.

Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but virtue consoles us even in our pains.

Would I describe a preacher, I would express him simple, grave, sincere; In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste,

A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.

Unless a love of virtue light the flame,

War’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; Prayer keeps the Christian’s armor bright; And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.

Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.

All we behold is miracle.

Still ending, and beginning still.

Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.

Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.

Grief is itself a medicine.

Habits are soon assumed; but when we strive to strip them off, ’tis being flayed alive.

They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.