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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

Our soul is escaped as a _bird_ out of the snare of the fowlers.--Psalm
cxxiv. 7.

As a _bird_ hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his
life.--Proverbs, vii. 23.

As the _bird_ by wandering, as the swallow by flying, so the curse
causeless shall not come.--Proverbs, xxvi. 2.

Curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a _bird_ of the air
shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the
matter.--Ecclesiastes, x. 20.

Behold the _fowls_ of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap,
nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye
not much better than they?--Matthew, vi. 26.

The foxes have holes, and the _birds_ of the air have nests; but the
Son of man hath not where to lay his head.--Matthew, viii. 20.

Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap: which neither have
storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better
than the _fowls_?--Luke, xii. 24.


    Sweet _bird_! thou sing’st away the early hours
    Of winter past, or coming, void of care,
    Well pleased with delights, which present are,--
    Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling flowers,
    To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers,
    Thou thy Creator’s goodness dost declare,
    And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
    A stain to human sense in sin that lowers;
    What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
    (Alter’d in sweetness,) sweetly is not driven
    Quite to forget earth’s turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
    And lift a reverend eye and thought to Heaven?
      Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
    To air of spheres, yes, and to angels’ lays.
                                            _W. Drummond._


    Behold! and look away your low despair,
    See the light tenants of the barren air:
    To them no stores nor granaries belong,
    Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
    Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends his eye
    On the least wing that flits along the sky;
    He hears their gay and their distressful call,
    And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
                                         _Thomson._


    What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say,
    That in a powerful language, felt, not heard,
    Instructs the _fowls_ of Heaven?
                            What but God!
    Inspiring God! whose boundless spirit all
    And unremitting energy pervades,
    Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.
                                        _Thomson._

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