Where Evil May Be Done, It Is

Our Merciful Father Has No Pleasure In The Sufferings Of His Children; He Chastens Them In Love; He Never Inflicts A Stroke He Could Safely Spare; He Inflicts It To Purify As Well As To Punish, To Caution As Well As To Cure, To Improve As Well As To Chastise.

Sow An Action, Reap A Habit.

The Soul On Earth Is An Immortal Guest.

No Adulation; 'tis The Death Of Virtue; Who Flatters, Is Of All Mankind The Lowest Save He Who Courts The Flattery.

The Ubiquity Of The Divine Presence Is The Only True Support, And I Am Sometimes Astonished How Persons, Who Evidently Do Not Possess That Grand Source Of Consolation, Keep Up Their Spirits Under Trials And Difficulties. It Must Be Owing To Careless Tempers And Nerves Of Brass.