Gratitude, in itself, is heaven.

All futurity seems teeming with endless destruction never to be repelled; Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.

The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.

My mother groaned, my father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt.

Children of the future age Reading this indignant page Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a crime

Let every Christian, as much as in him lies, engage himself openly and publicly, before all the World, in some mental pursuit for the Building up of Jerusalem.

To be an Error and to be Cast out is a part of God's Design.