A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever. - Martin Farquhar Tupper

How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land, The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side, And, for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride! Alone, alone—yet not alone, for God is with me there, The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere, While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as spirits calm and mild, Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild!

God, from a beautiful necessity, is Love in all he doeth, Love, a brilliant fire, to gladden or consume: The wicked work their woe by looking upon love, and hating it: The righteous find their joys in yearning on its loveliness for ever.

When streams of unkindness, as bitter as gall, Bubble up from the heart to the tongue, And Meekness is writhing in torment and thrall, By the hands of Ingratitude wrung, — In the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair, While the anguish is festering yet, None, none but an angel or God can declare "I now can forgive and forget."