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He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not color’d like his own, and having pow’r T’ enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.

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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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Nature is a good name for an effect whose cause is God.
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The proud are ever most provoked by pride.
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[My kitten’s] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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Manner is all in all, whate’er is writ,The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
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Some people are more nice than wise.
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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
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The Cross! There, and there only (though the deist rave, and the atheist, if Earth bears so base a slave); There and there only, is the power to save.
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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flow’r. Blind unbelief is sure to err And scan His work in vain; God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain.
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Remorse begets reform.
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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.
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Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his bright designs,
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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
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Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head
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The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.
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Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies… To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
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…So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
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Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees.
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To impute our recovery to medicine, and to carry our view no further, is to rob God of His honor, and is saying in effect that He has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of His own reach.
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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow, and when we lie down at night we may safely say to most of our troubles, “Ye have done your worst, and we shall see you no more.”
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How happy it is to believe, with a steadfast assurance, that our petitions are heard even while we are making them; and how delightful to meet with a proof of it in the effectual and actual grant of them.
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Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away.
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
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God made the country, and man made the town.
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What peaceful hours I once enjoy’d! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
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This fond attachment to the well-known place Whence first we started into life’s long race.
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