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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.

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
Save
Sacrifice
Blood
Lord
Christ
Forbid
Death
Boast
Things
Charm
Vain

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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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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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Disputation carries away the mind from that calm and sedate temper which is so necessary to contemplate truth.
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Roses grow on thorns and honey wears a sting.
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Learn good-humor, never to oppose without just reason abate some degree of pride and moroseness.
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Do not be deceived happiness and enjoyment do not lie in wicked ways.
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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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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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When general observations are drawn from so many particulars as to become certain and indisputable, these are jewels of knowledge.
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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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Custom and authority are no sure evidence of truth.
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In matters of equity between man and man, our Saviour has taught us to put my neighbor in place of myself, and myself in place of my neighbor.
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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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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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To prevent and suppress rising resentment is wise and glorious, is manly and divine.
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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 write not for your farthing, but to try. How I your farthing writers, may outvie.
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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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