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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

And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many _angels_ round about the
throne, and the beasts and the elders: and the number of them was ten
thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands; Saying with
a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power,
and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and
blessing.--Revelations, v. 11, 12.

And I saw another _angel_ fly in the midst of Heaven, having
the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the
earth.--Revelations, xiv. 6.


    And is there care in heaven? and is there love
    In heavenly spirits to the creatures base,
    That may compassion of their evils move?
    There is; else much more wretched were the case
    Of men than beasts. But O! th’ exceeding grace
    Of highest God that loves his creatures so,
    And all his works with mercy doth embrace,
    That blessed _angels_ he sends to and fro,
    To serve to wicked men, to serve his wicked foe.
                                           _Spenser._


    The multitude of _angels_, with a shout
    Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
    As from blest voices uttering joy, Heaven rung
    With jubilee, and loud Hosannas filled
    The eternal regions: lowly reverent
    Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground,
    With solemn adoration down they cast
    Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold.
                                              _Milton._


    _Angels_ are men of a superior kind;
    _Angels_ are men in lighter habit clad,
    High o’er celestial mountains winged in flight;
    And men are _angels_ loaded for an hour,
    Who wade the miry vale, and climb with pain,
    And slippery step, the bottom of the steep.
    _Angels_ their failings, mortals have their praise;
    While here, of corps ethereal, such enrolled,
    And summoned to the glorious standard soon,
    Which flames eternal crimson through the skies.
    Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin,
    Yet absent but not absent from their love.
    Michael has fought our battles; Raphael sung
    Our triumphs; Gabriel on our errands flown,
    Sent by the Sovereign; and are these, O man!
    Thy friends and warm allies, and thou (shame burn
    Thy cheek to cinder!) rival to the brutes!
                                                _Young._


    These are the haunts of meditation, these
    The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath,
    Ecstatic felt: and, from this world retired,
    Conversed with _angels_, and immortal forms,
    On gracious errands bent: to save the fall
    Of virtue, struggling on the brink of vice;
    In waking whispers, and repeated dreams;
    To hint pure thought, and warn the favoured soul,
    For future trials fated, to prepare.
                                               _Thomson._

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