Folly ends where genuine hope begins.

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head

Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die

We sacrifice to dress till household joys and comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, and keeps our larder lean.

It is a terrible thought, that nothing is ever forgotten; that not an oath is ever uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all times, in the wide spreading current of sound; that not a prayer is lisped, that its record is not to be found st

The solemn fop; significant and budge; A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge

Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.