The buried talent is the sunken rock on which most lives strike and…

See! he sinks Without a word; and his ensanguined bier Is vacant in the west, while far and near Behold! each coward shadow eastward shrinks, Thou dost not strive, O sun, nor dost thou cry Amid thy cloud-built streets.

When men do anything for God, the very least thing, they never know where it will end, nor what amount of work it will do for Him. Love's secret, therefore, is to be always doing things for God, and not to mind because they are such very …

There is seldom a line of glory written upon the earth's face, but a line of suffering runs parallel with it; and they that read the lustrous syllables of the one, and stoop not to decipher the spotted and worn inscription of the other, …

Faith is a letting down our nets into the untransparent deeps at the divine command, not knowing what we shall take.

All our lives long we might talk of Jesus, and yet we should never come to an end of the sweet things that are to be said about Him. Eternity will not be long enough to learn all He is, or to praise Him for all He has done; but that …

Is the amount of scrupulous attention which 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?