Acquaint yourself with your own ignorance.

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings

A hermit who has been shut up in his cell in a college has contracted a sort of mould and rust upon his soul.

He rules the world with truth and grace, and makes the nations prove, the glories of His righteousness and wonders of His love.

What bliss will fill the ransomed souls, when they in glory dwell, to see the sinner as he rolls, in quenchless flames of hell.

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessing without number Gently falling on thy head.

Every one of his opinions appears to himself to be written with sunbeams.