Isaac Watts Quotes - Page 3

In works of labour or of skillI would be busy too:For Satan finds some mischief stillFor idle hands to do.

Not all the blood of beasts On Jewish altars slain, Could give the guilty conscience peace, Or wash away the stain: But Christ, the heav'nly Lamb, Takes all our sins away, A sacrifice of nobler nam' And richer blood than they.

Acquire a government over your ideas, that they may come down when they are called, and depart when they are bidden.

Ten thousand things there are which we believe merely upon the authority or credit of those who have spoken or written them.

Salvation, O the joyful sound! 'Tis pleasure to our ears; A sov'reign balm for ev'ry wound, A cordial for our fears.

The passions are the gales of life; and it is religion only that can prevent them from rising into a tempest.

In common discourse we denominate persons and things according to the major part of their character; he is to be called a wise man who has but few follies.

Do not spend the day in gathering flowers by the way side, lest night come upon you before you arrive at your journey's end, and then you will not reach it.

To prevent and suppress rising resentment is wise and glorious, is manly and divine.

For Satan always finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.

Preserve your conscience always soft and sensitive. If but one sin force its way into that tender part of the soul and dwell there, the road is paved for a thousand iniquities.

There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.

Logic helps us to strip off the outward disguise of things, and to behold and judge of them in their own nature.

The eyes of a man in the jaundice make yellow observations on everything; and the soul tinctured with any passion diffuses a false color over the appearance of things.

Whene'er I take my walks abroad,How many poor I see!What shall I render to my GodFor all his gifts to me?

Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I, To mourn, and murmur and repine, To see the wicked placed on high, In pride and robes of honor shine. But oh, their end, their dreadful end, Thy sanctuary taught me so, On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand, And fiery billows roll below.

Birds in their little nests agree; And 'tis a shameful sight When children of one family Fall out, and chide, and fight.

Tis the voice of the sluggard I heard him complain,You have wak'd me too soon, I must slumber again.

If I could reach from pole to pole or grasp the ocean with a span, I would be measured by the soul The mind's the standard of the Man.

Whatever brawls disturb the street, There should be peace at home.

But, children, you should never let Such angry passions rise; Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes.

So, when a raging fever burns, We shift from side to side by turns; And 't is a poor relief we gain To change the place, but keep the pain.

Lord, I ascribe it to thy grace,And not to chance as others do,That I was born of Christian race,And not a Heathen, or a Jew.

Joy to the world, the Lord is come / Let earth receive her King / Let every heart, prepare him room / And heaven and nature sing.

To see the dull indifference, the negligent and thoughtless air that sits upon the faces of a whole assembly, while the psalm is upon their lips, might even tempt a charitable observer to suspect the fervency of their inward religion.