(Spurgeon, "Praises and Vows Accepted in Zion")
We have our common mercies. We call them
common, but, oh, how priceless they are!
Health to be able to come here and not to
be stretched on a bed of sickness, I count
this better than bags of gold.
To have our reason, and not to be confined
in yonder asylum; to have our children still
about us and dear relatives spared still to us;
to have bread to eat, and clothing to put on;
to have been kept from defiling our character;
to have been preserved today from the snares
of the enemy! These are godlike mercies!