I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul. The intellect of man is enthroned visibly on his forehead and in his eye, and the heart of man is written on his countenance, but the soul, the soul reveals itself in the voice only.

Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

These stars of earth, these golden flowers.

Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing.

The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.