In Grief We Know The Worst Of

Perfect Purity, Fullness Of Joy, Everlasting Freedom, Perfect Rest, Health And Fruition, Complete Security, Substantial And Eternal Good.

Since Trifles Make The Sum Of Human Things, And Half Our Misery From Our Foibles Springs.

The Soul On Earth Is An Immortal Guest, Compelled To Starve At An Unreal Feast: A Spark, Which Upward Tends By Nature's Force: A Stream Diverted From Its Parent Source; A Drop Dissever'd From The Boundless Sea; A Moment, Parted From Eternity; A Pilgrim Panting For The Rest To Come; An Exile, Anxious For His Native Home.

Resentment Is An Evil So Costly To Our Peace That We Should Find It More Cheap To Forgive Even Were It No More Right.

To Hint At A Fault Does More Mischief Than Speaking Out; For Whatever Is Left For The Imagination To Finish Will Not Fail To Be Overdone.