We Call Heaven Our Home,

We Live Merely On The Crust Or Rind Of Things.

The War Of Good And Evil Is Mightiest In Mightiest Souls, And Even In The Darkest Time The Heart Will Maintain Its Right Against The Hardest Creed.

I Have Long Been Convinced That The Christian Eucharist Is But A Continuation Of The Eleusinian Mysteries. St Paul, In Using The Word Teleiois, Almost Confirms This.

The Practical Effect Of A Belief Is The Real Test Of Its Soundness. Where We Find A Heroic Life Appearing As The Uniform Fruit Of A Particular Mode Of Opinion, It Is Childish To Argue In The Face Of Fact That The Result Ought To Have Been Different.

Beautiful Is Old Age—beautiful As The Slow-dropping Mellow Autumn Of A Rich Glorious Summer. In The Old Man, Nature Has Fulfilled Her Work; She Loads Him With Blessings; She Fills Him With The Fruits Of A Well-spent Life; And, Surrounded By His Children And His Children's Children, She Rocks Him Softly Away To A Grave, To Which He Is Followed With Blessings. God Forbid We Should Not Call It Beautiful.