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A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Religion

A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Quotations; Religious poetry

The soul’s rough file that smoothness does impart;
    The hammer that does break the stony heart!
    The worm that never dies! the “thorn within,”
    That pricks and pains! the whip and scourge of sin!
    The voice of God in man! that without rest
    Does softly cry within a troubled breast--
    “To all temptations is that soul set free
    That makes not to itself a curb of me.”
                                     _Sir E. Sherburne._


    For him a waking bloodhound, yelling loud,
      (That in his bosom long had sleeping laid,
    A guilty _conscience_ lurking after blood,)
      Pursued eagerly, nor ever stayed,
      Till the betrayer’s self it had betrayed;
    Oft changed he place in hope away to wind,
    But change of place could never change his mind,
    Himself he flies to lose, but follows but to find.
                                      _Giles Fletcher._


    There is a kind of _conscience_ some men keep,
    Is like a member that’s benumbed with sleep;
    Which, as it gathers blood, and wakes again,
    It shoots, and pricks, and feels as big as ten.
                                          _Quarles._


    The swelling of an outward fortune can
    Create a prosperous, not a happy, man;
    A peaceful _conscience_ is the true content,
    And wealth is but her golden ornament.
                                       _Quarles._


    Divine authority, within man’s breast,
    Brings every thought, word, action, to the test;
    Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains,
    As reason, or as passion takes the reins.
    Heaven from above, and _Conscience_ from within,
    Cries in his startled ear,--Abstain from sin.
                                            _Cowper._


        From behind her secret stand,
    The sly informer minutes every fault,
    And her dread diary with horror fills.
    Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
    She reconnoitres fancy’s airy band,
    Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
    And steals our embryos of iniquity.
                                     _Young._


                  ’Tis ever thus
    With noble minds; if chance they slide to folly,
    Remorse stings deeper, and relentless _conscience_
    Pours more of gall into the bitter cup
    Of their severe repentance.
                                              _Mason._


    Knowledge or wealth to few are given,
    But mark how just the ways of heaven:
        True joy to all is free.
    Nor wealth nor knowledge grant the boon,
    ’Tis thine, O _Conscience_! thine alone--
        It all belongs to thee.
                                     _Mickle._

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Religion

A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

Quotations; Religious poetry

The soul’s rough file that smoothness does impart;
    The hammer that does break the stony heart!
    The worm that never dies! the “thorn within,”
    That pricks and pains! the whip and scourge of sin!
    The voice of God in man! that without rest
    Does softly cry within a troubled breast--
    “To all temptations is that soul set free
    That makes not to itself a curb of me.”
                                     _Sir E. Sherburne._


    For him a waking bloodhound, yelling loud,
      (That in his bosom long had sleeping laid,
    A guilty _conscience_ lurking after blood,)
      Pursued eagerly, nor ever stayed,
      Till the betrayer’s self it had betrayed;
    Oft changed he place in hope away to wind,
    But change of place could never change his mind,
    Himself he flies to lose, but follows but to find.
                                      _Giles Fletcher._


    There is a kind of _conscience_ some men keep,
    Is like a member that’s benumbed with sleep;
    Which, as it gathers blood, and wakes again,
    It shoots, and pricks, and feels as big as ten.
                                          _Quarles._


    The swelling of an outward fortune can
    Create a prosperous, not a happy, man;
    A peaceful _conscience_ is the true content,
    And wealth is but her golden ornament.
                                       _Quarles._


    Divine authority, within man’s breast,
    Brings every thought, word, action, to the test;
    Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains,
    As reason, or as passion takes the reins.
    Heaven from above, and _Conscience_ from within,
    Cries in his startled ear,--Abstain from sin.
                                            _Cowper._


        From behind her secret stand,
    The sly informer minutes every fault,
    And her dread diary with horror fills.
    Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
    She reconnoitres fancy’s airy band,
    Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
    And steals our embryos of iniquity.
                                     _Young._


                  ’Tis ever thus
    With noble minds; if chance they slide to folly,
    Remorse stings deeper, and relentless _conscience_
    Pours more of gall into the bitter cup
    Of their severe repentance.
                                              _Mason._


    Knowledge or wealth to few are given,
    But mark how just the ways of heaven:
        True joy to all is free.
    Nor wealth nor knowledge grant the boon,
    ’Tis thine, O _Conscience_! thine alone--
        It all belongs to thee.
                                     _Mickle._

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

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