An oath! why, it is the traffic of the soul, it is law within a man; the seal of faith, the bond of every conscience; unto whom we set our thoughts like hands.
God doth bestow that garment, when we die, that, like a soft and silken canopy, is still spread over us. In spite of death, our hair grows in the grave; and that alone looks, fresh when all our other beauty’s gone.
The best of men that ever wore earth about Him was a sufferer, a soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit; the first true gentleman that ever breathed.
