For flowers that bloom about our feet; For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet; For song of bird, and hum of bee; For all things fair we hear or see, Father in heaven, we thank Thee!

Go out of the house to see the moon, and 't is mere tinsel; it will not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey. The beauty that shimmers in the yellow afternoons of October, who could ever clutch it? Go forth to find it, and it is gone: 't is only a mirage as you look from the windows of diligence.

Of the Shaker society, it was formerly a sort of proverb in the country, that they always sent the devil to market.

When the literary class betray a destitution of faith, it is not strange that society should be disheartened and sensualized by unbelief.

There is no history; only biography.

Cities force growth and make people talkative and entertaining, but they also make them artificial.

The moral sense is always supported by the permanent interest of the parties. Else, I know not how, in our world, any good would ever get done.