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
_Honour_--in blood congealed to take a life,
Which had been murder in the heat of strife!
_Honour_--when its result we dare not tell!
_Honour_--to plunge a fellow’s soul to hell!
_Honour_--to stand to be a murderer’s mark,
And hurl defiance e’en with life’s last spark;
To dare that law which has for ages stood--
“He dies by man who sheds a brother’s blood!”
Oh, in that moment when we all shall stand
Waiting the judgment of the Almighty hand,
Will then thy _honour_ palliate the crime,
And Heaven’s high monarch hear the plea of time?
Stript of those robes which make it _honour_ here,
Before that throne the murder will appear,
Disrobed of ornament the sin is there;
The crime is Cain’s; why not his judgment share--
An outcast on the earth, and in the Heaven,
O God! can crimes like these be e’er forgiven?
_Anon._
HOPE.
Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose _hope_ is in
the Lord his God.--Psalm cxlvi. 5.
The Lord is my portion, saith my soul, therefore will I _hope_ in
Him.--Lamentations, iii. 24.
It is good that a man should both _hope_ and quietly wait for the
salvation of the Lord.--Lamentations, iii. 26.
If in this life only we have _hope_ in Christ, we are of all men the
most miserable.--I. Corinthians, xv. 19.
Which _hope_ we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast,
and which entereth into that within the veil.--Hebrews, vi. 19.
Upon her arm a silver anchor lay,
Whereon she leaned ever, as befel:
And ever up to Heaven as she did pray,
Her steadfast eyes were bent, not swerved otherway.
_Spenser._
_Hope_, eager _hope_, the assassin of our joy,
All present blessings treading under foot,
Is scarce a milder tyrant than despair.
With no past toils content, still planning new,
_Hope_ turns us o’er to death alone for ease.
Possession why more tasteless than pursuit?
Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?
That wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss?
Because in the great future buried deep,
Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
Lies all that man with ardour should pursue;
And He who made him, bent him to the right.
_Young._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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