The Heart-sick Faintness Of The

To The Timid And Hesitating Everything Is Impossible Because It Seems So.

Guilt, Though It May Attain Temporal Splendor, Can Never Confer Real Happiness; The Evil Consequences Of Our Crimes Long Survive Their Commission, And, Like The Ghosts Of The Murdered, Forever Haunt The Steps Of The Malefactor; While The Paths Of Virtue, Though Seldom Those Of Worldly Greatness, Are Always Those Of Pleasantness And Peace.

As Hope And Fear Alternate Chase Our Course Through Life's Uncertain Race.

Do Not Christians And Heathens, And Jews And Gentiles, And Poets And Philosophers, Unite In Allowing The Starry Influences?

O Woman! In Our Hours Of Ease Uncertain, Coy, And Hard To Please, And Variable As The Shade By The Light Quivering Aspen Made; When Pain And Anguish Wring The Brow, A Ministering Angel Thou!