Undoubtedly we render our consciences callous by evil indulgences; but we cannot entirely subdue that still, small voice.
Henry Ward BeecherNot thine the sorrow, but ours, sainted soul! Thou hast indeed entered into the promised land, while we are yet on the march. To us remain the rocking of the deep, the storm upon the land, days of duty and nights of watching; but thou are sphered high above all darkness and fear, beyond all sorrow and weariness. Rest, oh, weary heart!
Henry Ward BeecherThere is no faculty of the human soul so persistent and universal as that of hatred.
Henry Ward Beecher