We can exaggerate about many things; but we can never exaggerate our obligation to Jesus, or the compassionate abundance of the love of Jesus to us. All our lives long we might talk of Jesus, and yet we should never come to an end of the sweet things that might be said of Him.
Small things are best: Grief and unrest To rank and wealth are given; But little things On little wings Bear little souls to Heaven.
If our love were but more simple, We should take Him at His word; And our lives would be all sunshine In the sweetness of the Lord.
For right is right, since God is God and right the day must win. To doubt would be disloyalty, to falter would be sin.
Many there are who, while they bear the name of Christians, are totally unacquainted with the power of their divine religion. But for their crimes the Gospel is in no wise answerable. Christianity is with them a geographical, not a descriptive, appellation.
Love's secret is always to be doing things for God, and not to mind because they are such very little ones.
The buried talent is the sunken rock on which most lives strike and founder.
Each hour comes with some little faggot of God's will fastened upon its back.
We strain hardest for things which are almost but not quite within our reach.
Exactness in little things is a wonderful source of cheerfulness.
He (God) never comes to those who do not wait.
God always fills in all hearts all the room which is left Him there.
For children is there any happiness which is not also noise?
There is a great deal of self-will in the world, but very little genuine independence of character.
Now this spirit is admirably mortified by the exercise of patience. It involves also a continual practice of the presence of God; for we may be come upon at any moment for an almost heroic display of good temper. It is a short road to unselfishness; for nothing is left to self. All that seems to belong most intimately to self, to be self's private property, such as time, home, and rest, are invaded by these continual trials of patience.
Ye Heavens, how sang they in your courts, How sang the angelic choir that day, When from his tomb the imprisoned God, Like the strong sunrise, broke away?
The music of the Gospel leads us home.
Is the scrupulous attention I am paying to the government of my tongue at all proportioned to that tremendous truth revealed through St. James, that if I do not bridle my tongue, all my religion is vain?
The world is growing old;Who would not be at rest and freeWhere love is never cold?
O majesty unspeakable and dread!Wert thou less mighty than Thou art,Thou wert, O Lord, too great for our belief,Too little for our heart.
It has always seemed to me that a love of natural objects, and the depth, as well as exuberance and refinement of mind, produced by an intelligent delight in scenery, are elements of the first importance in the education of the young.
Labour itself is but a sorrowful song,The protest of the weak against the strong.
There's a wideness in God's mercy Like the wideness of the sea Oratory Hymns.
Nobody is kind to only one person at once, but to many persons in one.
For right is right, since God is God.
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