Were a star quenched on high,For ages would its light,Still travelling downward from the sky,Shine on our mortal sight. So when a great man dies,For years beyond our ken,The light he leaves behind him liesUpon the paths of men.

Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.

Love is a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide.

Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.

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

It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.

Nothing with God can be accidental.