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To God the Father, God the Son, And God the Spirit, Three in One, Be honour, praise, and glory given By all on earth, and all in heaven.

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
Spirit
Three
Honour
Earth
Son
Praise
Glory
Heaven
Father
Given

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For Satan always finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.
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Roses grow on thorns and honey wears a sting.
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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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There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.
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Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small: Love so amazing, so divine Demands my soul, my life, my all.
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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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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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How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower!
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Love is amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
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The stars, that in their courses roll, Have much instruction given But Thy good Word informs my soul How I may climb to Heaven.
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Let dogs delight to bark and bite, for God hath made them so.
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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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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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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.
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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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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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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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thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.
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No more let sins and sorrows grow, Nor thorns infest the ground He comes to make His blessings flow Far as the curse is found.
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I love the soul that dares tread the temptations of his years beneath his youthful feet.
Isaac Watts