Lord, it is my chief complaint, That my love is weak and faint; Yet I love thee and adore, Oh for grace to love thee more!

But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought Of freedom, in that hope itself possess All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength, The scorn of danger, and united hearts, The surest presage of the good they seek.

Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.

A teacher should be sparing of his smile.

Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.

But, oh, Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself thy crown!