The Ignorant Classes Are The Dangerous Classes.

Where Is Human Nature So Weak As In The Bookstore?

Religion, In One Sense, Is A Life Of Self-denial, Just As Husbandry, In One Sense, Is A Work Of Death.

The World Is God's Workshop For Making Men In.

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees, And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy. The Lonely Pine On The Mountain-top Waves Its Sombre Boughs And Cries, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Little Meadow Violet Lifts Its Cup Of Blue, And Whispers With Its Perfumed Breath, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Grain In A Thousand Fields Rustles In The Wind, And Makes Answer, 'thou Art My Sun.' So God Sits Effulgent In Heaven, Not For A Favored Few, But For The Universe Of Life; And There Is No Creature So Poor Or So Low That He May Not Look Up With Childish Confidence And Say, 'my Father, Thou Art Mine.

If Every Child Might Live The Life Predestined In A Mother's Heart, All The Way From The Cradle To The Coffin, He Would Walk Upon A Beam Of Light, And Shine In Glory.