Quote

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.

Isaac Watts

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Isaac Watts
Age: 74 †
Born: 1674
Born: July 17
Died: 1748
Died: November 25
Hymnwriter
Philosopher
Poet
Theologian
Writer
Southampton
Hampshire
Isaac Watts
Failing
Measured
Form
Grasp
Soul
Odd
Mind
Standard
Would
Blame
Men
Standards
Ocean
Pole
Reach
Span

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Though reading and conversation may furnish us with many ideas of men and things, yet it is our own meditation must form our judgment.
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Forbid it Lord that I should boast, save in the death of Christ, my God: All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to his blood.
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To prevent and suppress rising resentment is wise and glorious, is manly and divine.
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Roses grow on thorns and honey wears a sting.
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There's no repentance in the grave.
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From all who dwell below the skiesLet the Creator's praise ariseLet the Redeemer's name be sungThrough every land, by every tongue.
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Salvation, O the joyful sound! 'Tis pleasure to our ears A sov'reign balm for ev'ry wound, A cordial for our fears.
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For Satan always finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.
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In Job and the Psalms we shall find more sublime ideas, more elevated language, than in any of the heathen versifiers of Greece or Rome.
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Study detains the mind by the perpetual occurrence of something new, which may gratefully strike the imagination.
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Instructors should not only be skilful in those sciences which they teach, but have skill in the method of teaching, and patience in the practice.
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Talking over the things which you have read with your companions fixes them on the mind.
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The passions are the gales of life and it is religion only that can prevent them from rising into a tempest.
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A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun.
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Death, like an overflowing stream, Sweeps us away: our life's a dream.
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For sov'reign pow'r reign not alone, Grace is the partner of the throne Thy grace and justice mighty Lord, Shall well divide our last reward.
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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.
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Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings
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Ten thousand things there are which we believe merely upon the authority or credit of those who have spoken or written them.
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And he that does one fault at first And lies to hide it, makes it two.
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