Quote

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.

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
Blood
Friday
Nobler
Takes
Sins
Lamb
Peace
Jewish
Stains
Christ
Beast
Lambs
Away
Guilty
Beasts
Give
Conscience
Altars
Heav
Giving
Sin
Wash
Slain
Sacrifice
Richer
Stain

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What bliss will fill the ransomed souls, when they in glory dwell, to see the sinner as he rolls, in quenchless flames of hell.
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Whene'er I take my walks abroad,How many poor I see!What shall I render to my GodFor all his gifts to me?
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Kind words toward those you daily meet, Kind words and actions right, Will make this life of ours most sweet, Turn darkness into night.
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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.
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When a false argument puts on the appearance of a true one, then it is properly called a sophism or fallacy.
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Speak softly. It is far better to rule by love than fear.Speak softly. Let no harsh words mar the good we may do here.
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To prevent and suppress rising resentment is wise and glorious, is manly and divine.
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When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
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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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I write not for your farthing, but to try. How I your farthing writers, may outvie.
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In works of labour or of skillI would be busy too:For Satan finds some mischief stillFor idle hands to do.
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Sweet is the day of sacred rest No mortal cares shall seize my breast O may my heart in tune be found Like David's harp of solemn sound.
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Satirists do expose their own ill nature.
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There's no repentance in the grave.
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When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride.
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I would not change my blest estate for all the world calls good or great.
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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.
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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.
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Do not be deceived happiness and enjoyment do not lie in wicked ways.
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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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