But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!

Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

To live a life half dead, a living death.

Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.

The Saviour who flitted before the patriarchs through the fog of the old dispensation, and who spake in time past to the fathers by the prophets, articulate but unseen, is the same Saviour who, on the open heights of the Gospel, and in the abundant daylight of this New Testament, speaks to us. Still all along it is the same Jesus, and that Bible is from beginning to end all of it, the word of Christ.

Temper justice with mercy.