Much Of The Work Of Every Life

He Is Coming Like The Glory Of The Morning On The Wave, He Is Wisdom To The Mighty, He Is Succour To The Brave, So The World Shall Be His Footstool, And The Soul Of Time His Slave, Our God Is Marching On.

Every Life Has Its Actual Blanks, Which The Ideal Must Fill Up, Or Which Else Remain Bare & Profitless Forever.

I Have Never Known My Husband To Approve Any Act Of Mine Which I Myself Valued.

Every Fallen Woman Represents A Man As Guilty As Herself, Who Escapes Human Detection, But Whose Soul Lies Open Before God.

We, Women Of One Country, Will Be Too Tender Of Those Of Another Country To Allow Our Sons To Be Trained To Injure Theirs.