Nothing Lovelier Can Be Found

Truth Is Compared In Scripture To A Streaming Fountain; If Her Waters Flow Not In Perpetual Progression, They Sicken Into A Muddy Pool Of Conformity And Tradition.

A Crown Golden In Show, Is But A Wreath Of Thorns, Bring Dangers, Troubles, Cares, And Sleepless Nights To Him Who Wears The Regal Diadem

But Oh The Heavy Change, Now Thou Art Gone, Now Thou Art Gone And Never Must Return!

Nor Think Thou With Wind Of æry Threats To Awe Whom Yet With Deeds Thou Canst Not.

Grace Was In All Her Steps, Heaven In Her Eye, In Every Gesture Dignity And Love.