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A hermit who has been shut up in his cell in a college has contracted a sort of mould and rust upon his soul.

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
Shut
Solitude
Contracted
College
Hermit
Sort
Hermits
Upon
Mould
Soul
Rust
Cell
Cells

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Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me still.
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Logic helps us to strip off the outward disguise of things, and to behold and judge of them in their own nature.
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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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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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Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings
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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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Fancy and humour, early and constantly indulged in, may expect an old age overrun with follies.
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To be angry about trifles is mean and childish to rage and be furious is brutish and to maintain perpetual wrath is akin to the practice and temper of devils but to prevent and suppress rising resentment is wise and glorious, is manly and divine.
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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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Our God, our help in ages past,Our hope for years to come,Our shelter from the stormy blast,And our eternal home.
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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.
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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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Learning to trust is one of life's most difficult tasks.
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There's no repentance in the grave.
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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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Learn good-humor, never to oppose without just reason abate some degree of pride and moroseness.
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Death, like an overflowing stream, Sweeps us away: our life's a dream.
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I have been there, and still would go 'T is like a little heaven below.
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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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