Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled: thou takest away their _breath_, they die, and return to their dust.--Psalm civ. 29. Behold, the name of the Lord cometh from far, burning with his anger, and the burden thereof is heavy: his lips are full of indignation, and his tongue as a devouring fire. And his _breath_, as an overflowing stream, shall reach to the midst of the neck.--Isaiah, xxx. 27, 28. Thou hast heard my voice: hide not thine ear at my _breathing_, at my cry.--Lamentations, iii. 56. Since I in storms most used to be, And seldom yielded flowers, How shall I get a wreath for thee From those rude barren hours? The softer dressings of the spring, Or summer’s later store, I will not for thy temples bring, Which thorns, not roses, wore: But a twined wreath of grief and praise, Praise soiled with tears, and tears again Shining with joy, like dewy days, This day I bring for all thy pain, Thy causeless pain; and as sad death, Which sadness breeds in the most vain, O not in vain; now beg thy _breath_, Thy quick’ning _breath_, which gladly bears Through saddest clouds to that glad place Where cloudless quires sing without tears, Sing thy just praise, and see thy face. _Henry Vaughan._ As those we love decay, we die in part, String after string is severed from the heart; Till loosened life, at last, but _breathing_ clay, Without one pang is glad to fall away. Unhappy he who latest feels the blow, Whose eyes have wept o’er every friend, laid low, Dragged lingering on, from partial death to death, Till, dying, all he can resign is _breath_. _Thomson._ BRIGHTNESS. Through the _brightness_ before him were coals of fire kindled.--II. Samuel, xxii. 13. God came from Teman, and the Holy One from Mount Paran. His glory covered the heavens, and the earth was full of his praise. And his _brightness_ was as the light.--Habakkuk, iii. 3, 4. Then shall that wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the _brightness_ of his coming.--II. Thessalonians, ii. 8. Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain, In vain, alas! to tell so heavenly sight! So heavenly sight as none can greater feign, Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might: Could any yet compare with Infinite? Infinite sure these joys; my words but light: Light is the palace where she dwells--O then how _bright_! _Giles Fletcher._ Through a cloud, Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine, Dark with excessive _bright_ thy skirts appear. _Milton._