He who loves best his fellow-man, is loving God the holiest way he can.

I sit where the leaves of the maple and the gnarled and knotted gum are circling and drifting around me.

The path of duty I clearly trace, / I stand with conscience face to face, / And all her pleas allow; / Calling and crying the while for grace, - / 'Some other time, and some other place; / Oh, not to-day; not now!

I hold that Christian grace abounds Where charity is seen; that when We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds Of love to men.

He who loves best his fellow-man, is loving God the holiest way he can.

Nothing in this low and ruined world bears the meek impress of the Son of God so surely as forgiveness.

Shut up the door: who loves me must not look / Upon the withered world, but haste to bring / His lighted candle, and his story-book, / And live with me the poetry of spring.