A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires.
Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.
A Christian is the highest style of man.
The weak have remedies, the wise have joys; superior wisdom is superior bliss.
Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.