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Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in

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Cheer Column Cup Each Evening Preach Steamy Welcome

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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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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.
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Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but virtue consoles us even in our pains.
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There is mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought gives even affliction a grace and reconciles man to his lot.
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[My kitten’s] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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What is there in the vale of lifeHalf so delightful as a wife;When friendship, love and peace combineTo stamp the marriage-bond divine?
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God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize,–the art that baffles time’s tyrannic claim to quench it.
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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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Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
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Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.
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Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
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Existence is a strange bargain. Life owes us little; we owe it everything.
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