A Mother's Love, In A

Not The Least Misfortune In A Prominent Falsehood Is The Fact That Tradition Is Apt To Repeat It For Truth.

O Sin, How You Paint Your Face! How You Flatter Us Poor Mortals On To Death! You Never Appear To The Sinner In Your True Character; You Make Fair Promises, But You Never Fulfil One; Your Tongue Is Smoother Than Oil, But The Poison Of Asps Is Under Your Lip!

It Is A Glorious Occupation, Vivifying And Self-sustaining In Its Nature, To Struggle With Ignorance, And Discover To The Inquiring Minds Of The Masses The Clear Cerulean Blue Of Heavenly Truth.

I Have Somewhere Read That Conscience Not Only Sits As Witness And Judge Within Our Bosoms, But Also Forms The Prison Of Punishment.

Humanity, In The Aggregate, Is Progressing, And Philanthropy Looks Forward Hopefully.