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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

That thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house
of God, which is the _church_ of the living God, the pillar and ground
of the truth.--I. Timothy, iii. 15.

Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of
some is.--Hebrews, x. 25.


                            The solemn scene
    The sun, through storied panes, surveys with awe,
    And bashfully withholds each bolder beam.
                                              _Smart._


                  Think, when the bells do chime,
    ’Tis angels’ music; therefore come not late.
      God then deals blessings: if a king did so,
      Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show?

    When once thy foot enters the _church_, be bare.
    God is more there than thou: for thou art there
    Only by His permission. Then beware;
    And make thyself all reverence and fear.
      Kneeling ne’er spoil’d silk stocking. Quit thy state.
      All equal are within the _church’s_ gate.

    Resort to sermons, but to prayers most:
    Praying’s the end of preaching. O be drest;
    Stay not for the other pin: why thou hast lost
    A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest
      Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee,
      Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee.

    In time of service seal up both thine eyes,
    And send them to thy heart; that spying sin,
    They may weep out the stains by them did rise:
    Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.
      Who marks in _church_-time others’ symmetry,
      Makes all their beauty his deformity.

    Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part;
    Bring not thy plots, thy plough, thy pleasure thither.
    Christ purged His temple--so must thou thy heart.
    All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together
      To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well,
      For _churches_ either are our heaven or hell.
                                          _George Herbert._


    Dear is the ancient village _church_, which rears
      By the lone yew, or lime, or elm-girt mound,
      Its modest fabric: clear, and pleasant sound
    Of bells, the grey embattled tower that wears
    Of changeful hue the marks of bye-gone years,
      Buttress, and porch, and arch with mazy round
      Of curious feet or shapes fantastic crown’d;
    Tall pinnacles and mingled window tiers,
    Norman, or misnamed Gothic. Fairer spot
    Thou givest not, England, to the tasteful eye,
    Nor to the heart more soothing. Blest their lot!
      Know they their bliss, who own their dwelling nigh
    Such resting-place; there by the world forgot,
      In life to worship, and when dead to lie!
                                           _Bishop Mant._

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

That thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house
of God, which is the _church_ of the living God, the pillar and ground
of the truth.--I. Timothy, iii. 15.

Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of
some is.--Hebrews, x. 25.


                            The solemn scene
    The sun, through storied panes, surveys with awe,
    And bashfully withholds each bolder beam.
                                              _Smart._


                  Think, when the bells do chime,
    ’Tis angels’ music; therefore come not late.
      God then deals blessings: if a king did so,
      Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show?

    When once thy foot enters the _church_, be bare.
    God is more there than thou: for thou art there
    Only by His permission. Then beware;
    And make thyself all reverence and fear.
      Kneeling ne’er spoil’d silk stocking. Quit thy state.
      All equal are within the _church’s_ gate.

    Resort to sermons, but to prayers most:
    Praying’s the end of preaching. O be drest;
    Stay not for the other pin: why thou hast lost
    A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest
      Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee,
      Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee.

    In time of service seal up both thine eyes,
    And send them to thy heart; that spying sin,
    They may weep out the stains by them did rise:
    Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.
      Who marks in _church_-time others’ symmetry,
      Makes all their beauty his deformity.

    Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part;
    Bring not thy plots, thy plough, thy pleasure thither.
    Christ purged His temple--so must thou thy heart.
    All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together
      To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well,
      For _churches_ either are our heaven or hell.
                                          _George Herbert._


    Dear is the ancient village _church_, which rears
      By the lone yew, or lime, or elm-girt mound,
      Its modest fabric: clear, and pleasant sound
    Of bells, the grey embattled tower that wears
    Of changeful hue the marks of bye-gone years,
      Buttress, and porch, and arch with mazy round
      Of curious feet or shapes fantastic crown’d;
    Tall pinnacles and mingled window tiers,
    Norman, or misnamed Gothic. Fairer spot
    Thou givest not, England, to the tasteful eye,
    Nor to the heart more soothing. Blest their lot!
      Know they their bliss, who own their dwelling nigh
    Such resting-place; there by the world forgot,
      In life to worship, and when dead to lie!
                                           _Bishop Mant._

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

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