I wonder many times that ever a child of God should have a sad heart, considering what their Lord is preparing for them.

Grace grows best in winter.

Let your children be as so many flowers, borrowed from God. If the flowers die or wither, thank God for a summer loan of them.

Millions of hells of sinners cannot come near to exhaust infinite grace.

I see Christ's love is so kingly, that it will not abide a marrow it must have a throne all alone in the soul.

Why should I tremble at the plough of my Lord, that maketh deep furrows on my soul? I know He is no idle husbandman, He purposeth a crop.

The weightiest end of the cross of Christ that is laid upon you, lieth upon your strong Savior.