I hold that Christian grace abounds Where charity is seen; that when We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds Of love to men..

Not what we think, but what we do, / Makes saints of us: all stiff and cold, / The outlines of the corpse show through / The cloth of gold..

The attempt is all the wedge that splits its knotty way betwixt the impossible and possible..

I hold that a man had better be dead than alive when his work is done..