And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.

Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.

Art is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory.

Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need.

Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.

Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think.

Live up to the best that is in you: Live noble lives, as you all may, in whatever condition you may find yourselves.