Isaac Watts (1674 – 1748)
English theologian, logician, and a prolific and popular hymnwriter.
The tall, the wise, the reverend head
Must lie as low as ours.
But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise;
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other's eyes.
...but every lyar
Must have his portion in the lake
That burns with brimstone and with fire.
The compassion of Christ inclines Him to save sinners, —
the power of Christ enables Him to save sinners, — and the
promise of Christ binds Him to save sinners.
A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
On Thy kind arms I fall;
Be Thou my Strength and Righteousness,
My Saviour and my All.
Joy to the world! the Saviour reigns;
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
Repeat the sounding joy.
In books, or work, or healthful play.
When I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,
I'll bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.
My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of Thine,
While like a penitent I stand,
And there confess my sin.
How divinely full of glory and pleasure shall that hour be when all the millions of mankind that have been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb of God shall meet together and stand around Him, with every tongue and every heart full of joy and praise! How astonishing will be the glory and the joy of that day when all the saints shall join together in one common song of gratitude and love, and of everlasting thankfulness to this Redeemer! With what unknown delight, and inexpressible satisfaction, shall all that are saved from the ruins of sin and hell address the Lamb that was slain, and rejoice in His presence!
Birds in their little nests agree;
And 'tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight.
Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For 't is their nature too.
'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain,
"You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again."
I would not change my native land
For rich Peru with all her gold.
Joy to the world! the Lord is come;
Let earth receive her King.
Let ev'ry heart prepare Him room,
And heav'n and nature sing,
And heaven and nature sing,
And heaven, and heaven, and nature sing.
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.
A flower, when offered in the bud,
Is no vain sacrifice.
Strange that a harp of thousand strings
Should keep in tune so long!
Maintain a constant watch at all times against a dogmatical spirit: fix not your assent to any proposition in a firm and unalterable manner, till you have some firm and unalterable ground for it, and till you have arrived at some clear and sure evidence.
One stroke of his almighty rod
Shall send young sinners quick to hell.
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.