The world is to be cleaned by somebody, and you are not called of God if you are ashamed to scrub.

I think half the troubles for which men go slouching in prayer to God are caused by their intolerable pride. Many of our cares are but a morbid way of looking at our privileges. We let our blessings get mouldy, and then call them curses.

The one great poem of New England is her Sunday.

Thinking is creating with God, as thinking is writing with the ready writer; and worlds are only leaves turned over in the process of composition, about his throne.

Let the GRATEFUL HEART sweep through the day that it may recognize in every hour some sweet blessing.

No man ever learned to love God with all his heart, and his neighbour as himself, in a day.

Some have supposed that the mosquito is of a devout turn, and never will partake of a meal without first saying grace. The devotions of some men are but a preface to blood-sucking.