Millions of hells of sinners cannot come near to exhaust infinite grace.
They lose nothing who gain Christ.
My dear brother, let God make of you what He will, He will end all with consolation, and shall make glory out of your suffering.
No pen, no words, no image can express to you the loveliness of my only, only Lord Jesus.
Your heart is not the compass that God steers by.
No created powers can mar our Lord Jesus' music, nor spill our song of joy. Let us then be glad and rejoice in the salvation of our Lord