But chiefly Thou, Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from Heaven To bleed for man, to teach him how to live, And, oh! still harder lesson! how to die.

One murder makes a villian, millions a hero

Love is something so divine, Description would but make it less; 'Tis what I feel, but can't define, 'Tis what I know but can't express

Bad thoughts quickly ripen into bad actions.

One murder made a villain, Millions a hero. Princes were privileged To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime.

War its thousands slays, Peace its ten thousands.

The joy resulting from the diffusion of blessings to all around us is the purest and sublimest that can ever enter the human mind, and can be conceived only by those who have experienced it. Next to the consolations of divine grace, it is the most sovereign balm to the miseries of life, both in him who is the object of it, and in him who exercises it.