dust of the earth, small voice in the multitude of generations, and like grass which whithers and fade in the evening.

There are many thoughts which I thought I would write, but at once, they seem so small, so trivial, so minute, so insignificant, so laughable, so human. What is man?

"When I survey the wondrous cross",
I find the answers there.
I find all the answers there.
The Savior gave His life. What else can we say?
What else do you want?
Oh such grace, such... Such is too wonderful for me to speak of. The choicest of words fall flat. The most melodious of songs sound dull.
But still, we venture to plead and ask, even though we are but dust and ashes.
'O for grace, to trust Him more.'
Simple, childlike faith.