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Academical disputation gives vigor and briskness to the mind thus exercised, and relieves the languor of private study and meditation.

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
Thus
Argument
Private
Meditation
Disputation
Gives
Languor
Study
Relieves
Giving
Exercised
Mind
Vigor

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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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When general observations are drawn from so many particulars as to become certain and indisputable, these are jewels of knowledge.
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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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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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And he that does one fault at first And lies to hide it, makes it two.
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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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Love is amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
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Acquaint yourself with your own ignorance.
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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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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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Was it for crimes that I had done He groaned upon the tree? Amazing pity! Grace unknown! And love beyond degree!
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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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Everyday is a birthday every moment of it is new to us we are born again, renewed for fresh work and endeavor.
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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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There's no repentance in the grave.
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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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How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower!
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Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me still.
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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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