Let the Beasts Their Breath Resign
Let the beasts their breath resign,
Strangers to the life divine;
Who their God can never know,
Let their spirit downward go.
You for higher ends were born,
You may all to God return,
Dwell with him above the sky;
Why will you for ever die?
You, on whom he favours showers,
You, possest of nobler powers,
You, of reason's powers possest,
You, with will and memory blest,
You, with finer sense endued,
Creatures capable of God;
Noblest of his creatures, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, whom he ordained to be
Transcripts of the Deity;
You, whom he in life doth hold;
You, for whom himself was sold;
You, on whom he still doth wait,
Whom he would again create;
Made by him, and purchased, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, who own his record true,
You, his chosen people, you,
You, who call the Saviour Lord,
You, who read his written word,
You, who see the gospel-light,
Claim a crown in Jesu's right;
Why will you, ye Christians, why
Will the house of Israel die?
poem by Charles Wesley
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Related quotes
Hymn VII: Let the Beasts Their Breath Resign
Let the beasts their breath resign,
Strangers to the life divine;
Who their God can never know,
Let their spirit downward go.
You for higher ends were born,
You may all to God return,
Dwell with him above the sky;
Why will you for ever die?
You, on whom he favours showers,
You, possest of nobler powers,
You, of reason's powers possest,
You, with will and memory blest,
You, with finer sense endued,
Creatures capable of God;
Noblest of his creatures, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, whom he ordained to be
Transcripts of the Deity;
You, whom he in life doth hold;
You, for whom himself was sold;
You, on whom he still doth wait,
Whom he would again create;
Made by him, and purchased, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, who own his record true,
You, his chosen people, you,
You, who call the Saviour Lord,
You, who read his written word,
You, who see the gospel-light,
Claim a crown in Jesu's right;
Why will you, ye Christians, why
Will the house of Israel die?
poem by John Wesley
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Creatures Of Love
A woman made a man
A man he made a house
And when they lay together
Little creatures all come out
Well, Ive seen sex and I think its alright
It makes those little creatures come to life
I can laugh or I can turn away
Well, Ive seen sex and I think its okay
We are creatures, creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
From the sleep of reason, a life is born
We are creatures, creatures of love
Its okay to be afraid
When the blue sparks hit your brain
We can love one another
Ive been told that its okay
Doctor, doctor, tell me what I am
Am I one of those human beings
Well I can laugh or I can learn to think
So help me now to find out what I feel
We are creatures, creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
Weve been here forever, before you were born
We are creatures of love, we are creatures of love
A man can drive his car
And a woman can be a boss
Im a monkey and a flower
Im everything at once
Well, a woman and a man can be together
If they decide to theyll make little creatures
Watch em now!
Little creature of love
With two arms and two legs
From a moment of passion
Now they cover the bed
We are creatures of love, we are creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
From the sleep of reason, a life is born
We are creatures of love, we are creatures of love
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A prayer to the Father of heaven
O radiant luminary of light interminable,
Celestial Father, potential God of might,
Of heaven and earth O Lord incomparable,
Of all perfections the essential most perfite !
O maker of mankind, that formëd day and night,
Whose power imperial comprehendeth every place :
Mine heart, my mind, my thought, my whole delight
Is after this life to see thy glorious face.
Whose magnificense is incomprehensible,
All arguments of reason which far doth exceed,
Whose deity doubtless is indivisible,
From whom all goodness and virtue doth proceed ;
Of thy support all creätures have need :
Assist me, good Lord, and grant my of thy grace
To live to thy pleasure in word, thought, and deed,
And after this life to see thy glorious face.
poem by John Skelton
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Lord! When Those Glorious Lights I See
Lord! when those glorious lights I see
With which thou hast adorned the skies,
Observing how they moved be,
And how their splendor fills mine eyes,
Methinks it is too large a grace,
But that thy love ordained it so,--
That creatures in so high a place
Should servants be to man below.
The meanest lamp now shining there
In size and lustre doth exceed
The noblest of thy creatures here,
And of our friendship hath no need.
Yet these upon mankind attend
For secret aid or public light;
And from the world's extremest end
Repair unto us every night.
O, had that stamp been undefaced
Which first on us thy hand had set,
How highly should we have been graced,
Since we are so much honored yet!
Good God, for what but for the sake
Of thy beloved and only Son,
Who did on him our nature take,
Were these exceeding favors done?
As we by him have honored been,
Let us to him due honors give;
Let us uprightness hide our sin,
And let us worth from him receive.
Yea, so let us by grace improve
What thou by nature doth bestow,
That to thy dwelling-place above
We may be raised from below.
poem by George Wither
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Psalm CXXXVI
Let us with a gladsome mind
Praise the Lord for he is kind;
For his mercies aye endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.
Let us blaze his Name abroad,
For of gods he is the God;
For his, &c.
O let us his praises tell,
That doth the wrathful tyrants quell;
For his, &c.
That with his miracles doth make
Amazèd Heaven and Earth to shake;
For his, &c.
That by his wisdom did create
The painted heavens so full of state;
For his, &c.
That did the solid Earth ordain
To rise above the watery plain;
For his, &c.
That by his all-commanding might,
Did fill the new-made world with light;
For his, &c.
And caused the golden-tressèd Sun
All the day long his course to run;
For his, &c.
The hornèd Moon to shine by night
Amongst her spangled sisters bright;
For his, &c.
He, with his thunder-clasping hand,
Smote the first-born of Egypt land;
For his, &c.
And, in despite of Pharao fell,
He brought from thence his Israel;
For his, &c.
The ruddy waves he cleft in twain
Of the Erythræan main;
For his, &c.
The floods stood still, like walls of glass,
While the Hebrew bands did pass;
For his, &c.
But full soon they did devour
The tawny King with all his power;
For his, &c.
His chosen people he did bless
In the wasteful Wilderness;
For his, &c.
In bloody battail he brought down
Kings of prowess and renown;
For his, &c.
He foiled bold Seon and his host,
That ruled the Amorrean coast;
For his, &c.
And large-limbed Og he did subdue,
With all his over-hardy crew;
For his, &c.
And to his servant Israel
He gave their land, therein to dwell;
For his, &c.
He hath, with a piteous eye,
Beheld us in our misery;
For his, &c.
And freed us from the slavery
Of the invading enemy;
For his, &c.
All living creatures he doth feed,
And with full hand supplies their need;
For his, &c.
Let us, therefore, warble forth
His mighty majesty and worth;
For his, &c.
That his mansion hath on high,
Above the reach of mortal eye;
For his, &c.
poem by John Milton
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Upon The Skilfull Player Of An Instrument
He that can play well on an instrument,
Will take the ear, and captivate the mind
With mirth or sadness; for that it is bent
Thereto, as music in it place doth find.
But if one hears that hath therein no skill,
(As often music lights of such a chance)
Of its brave notes they soon be weary will:
And there are some can neither sing nor dance.
Comparison.
Unto him that thus skilfully doth play,
God doth compare a gospel-minister,
That rightly preacheth, and doth godly pray,
Applying truly what doth thence infer.
This man, whether of wrath or grace he preach,
So skilfully doth handle every word;
And by his saying doth the heart so reach,
That it doth joy or sigh before the Lord.
But some there be, which, as the brute, doth lie
Under the Word, without the least advance
Godward; such do despise the ministry;
They weep not at it, neither to it dance.
poem by John Bunyan
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Sonnet XLIX. From The Novel Of Celestina
Supposed to have been written in a church-yard, over
the grave of a young woman of nineteen.
THOU! who sleep'st where hazle-bands entwine
The vernal grass, with paler violets drest;
I would, sweet maid! thy humble bed were mine,
And mine thy calm and enviable rest.
For never more by human ills opprest
Shall thy soft spirit fruitlessly repine:
Thou canst not now thy fondest hopes resign
Even in the hour that should have made thee blest.
Light lies the turf upon thy virgin breast;
And lingering here, to love and sorrow true,
The youth who once thy simple heart possest
Shall mingle tears with April's early dew;
While still for him shall faithful Memory save
Thy form and virtues from the silent grave.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Sonnet XII: That Learned Father
To the Soul
That learned Father, who so firmly proves
The Soul of man immortal and divine,
And doth the several offices define:
Anima - Gives her that name, as she the Body moves;
Amor - Then is she Love, embracing charity;
Animus - Moving a Will in us, it is the Mind
Mens - Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind;
Memoria - As intellectual, it is Memory;
Ratio - In judging, Reason only is her name;
Sensus - In speedy apprehension, it is Sense;
Conscientia - In right or wrong, they call her Conscience;
Spiritus - The Spirit, when it to Godward doth inflame.
These of the Soul the several functions be,
Which my Heart, lighten'd by thy love, doth see.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Tenth Sunday After Trinity
Why doth my Saviour weep
At sight of Sion's bowers?
Shows it not fair from yonder steep,
Her gorgeous crown of towers?
Mark well His holy pains:
'Tis not in pride or scorn,
That Israel's King with sorrow stains
His own triumphal morn.
It is not that His soul
Is wandering sadly on,
In thought how soon at death's dark goal
Their course will all be run,
Who now are shouting round
Hosanna to their chief;
No thought like this in Him is found,
This were a Conquerer's grief.
Or doth He feel the Cross
Already in His heart,
The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss?
Feel e'en His God depart?
No: though He knew full well
The grief that then shall be -
The grief that angels cannot tell -
Our God in agony.
It is not thus He mourns;
Such might be martyr's tears,
When his last lingering look he turns
On human hopes and fears;
But hero ne'er or saint
The secret load might know,
With which His spirit waxeth faint;
His is a Saviour's woe.
"If thou had'st known, e'en thou,
At least in this thy day,
The message of thy peace! but now
'Tis passed for aye away:
Now foes shall trench thee round,
And lay thee even with earth,
And dash thy children to the ground,
Thy glory and thy mirth."
And doth the Saviour weep
Over His people's sin,
Because we will not let Him keep
The souls He died to win?
Ye hearts, that love the Lord,
If at this, sight ye burn,
See that in thought, in deed, in word,
Ye hate what made Him mourn.
poem by John Keble
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Psalm 119 part 8
The word of God is the saint's portion.
ver. 111, paraphrased.
Lord, I have made thy word my choice,
My lasting heritage;
There shall my noblest powers rejoice,
My warmest thoughts engage.
I'll read the histories of thy love,
And keep thy laws in sight,
While through the promises I rove,
With ever fresh delight.
'Tis a broad land of wealth unknown,
Where springs of life arise,
Seeds of immortal bliss are sown,
And hidden glory lies.
The best relief that mourners have,
It makes our sorrows blest;
Our fairest hope beyond the grave,
And our eternal rest.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Christmas Carol
TUNE--'God rest ye, merry gentleman.'
GOD rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,
When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,
For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;
Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,
When Christ, the Child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed morn
The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born:
Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away;
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Nativity of Christ
Behold the father is his daughter's son,
The bird that built the nest is hatched therein,
The old of years an hour hath not outrun,
Eternal life to live doth now begin,
The Word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep,
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep.
O dying souls, behold your living spring;
O dazzled eyes, behold your sun of grace;
Dull ears, attend what word this Word doth bring;
Up, heavy hearts, with joy your joy embrace.
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despairs
This life, this light, this Word, this joy repairs.
Gift better than himself God doth not know;
Gift better than his God no man can see.
This gift doth here the giver given bestow;
Gift to this gift let each receiver be.
God is my gift, himself he freely gave me;
God's gift am I, and none but God shall have me.
Man altered was by sin from man to beast;
Beast's food is hay, hay is all mortal flesh.
Now God is flesh and lies in manger pressed
As hay, the brutest sinner to refresh.
O happy field wherein that fodder grew,
Whose taste doth us from beasts to men renew.
poem by Robert Southwell
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Sonnet 37: My Mouth Doth Water
My mouth doth water, and my breast doth swell,
My tongue doth itch, my thoughts in labor be:
Listen then, lordings, with good ear to me,
For of my life I must a riddle tell.
Toward Aurora's court a nymph doth dwell,
Rich in all beauties which man's eye can see:
Beauties so far from reach of words, that we
Abase her praise, saying she doth excel:
Rich in the treasure of deserv'd renown,
Rich in the riches of a royal heart,
Rich in those gifts which give th'eternal crown;
Who though most rich in these and every part,
Which make the patents of true worldly bliss,
Hath no misfortune, but that Rich she is.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Amoretti LXXIX: Men Call you Fair
Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that your self ye daily such do see:
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more prais'd of me.
For all the rest, how ever fair it be,
Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue:
But only that is permanent and free
From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty: that doth argue you
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed:
Deriv'd from that fair Spirit, from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fair, and what he fair hath made,
All other fair, like flowers untimely fade.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Our second remark is, that the office is of divine appointment, not merely in the sense in which the civil powers are ordained of God, but in the sense that ministers derive their authority from Christ, and not from the people.
quote by Charles Hodge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of The Flie At The Candle
hat ails this fly thus desperately to enter
A combat with the candle? Will she venture
To clash at light? Away, thou silly fly;
Thus doing thou wilt burn thy wings and die.
But 'tis a folly her advice to give,
She'll kill the candle, or she will not live.
Slap, says she, at it; then she makes retreat,
So wheels about, and doth her blows repeat.
Nor doth the candle let her quite escape,
But gives some little check unto the ape:
Throws up her heels it doth, so down she falls,
Where she lies sprawling, and for succour calls.
When she recovers, up she gets again,
And at the candle comes with might and main,
But now behold, the candle takes the fly,
And holds her, till she doth by burning die.
Comparison.
This candle is an emblem of that light
Our gospel gives in this our darksome night.
The fly a lively picture is of those
That hate and do this gospel light oppose.
At last the gospel doth become their snare,
Doth them with burning hands in pieces tear.
poem by John Bunyan
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On The Bible
Behold this little volume here inrolde:
'Tis the Almighty's present to the world:
Hearken earth's earth; each sencelesse thing can heare
His Maker's thunder, though it want an eare:
God's word is senior to his works, nay rather
If rightly weigh'd the world may call it father;
God spake, 'twas done; this great foundation
Is the Creator's Exhalation
Breath'd out in speaking. The best work of man
Is better than his word; but if wee scanne
God's word aright, his works far short doe fall;
The word is God, the works are creatures all.
The sundry peeces of this generall frame
Are dimmer letters, all which spell the same
Eternal word; But these cannot expresse
His greatnesse with such easy readinesse,
And therefore yeild. The Heavens shall pass away,
The sun and moone and stars shall all obey
To light one general bonfire; but his word,
His builder-upp, his all-destroying sworde,
That still survives; no jott of that can dye,
Each tittle measures immortalitie.
The word's owne mother, on whose breast did hang
The world's upholder drawne into a span,
Shee, shee was not so blest because she bare him
As cause herselfe was new-born, and did hear him.
Before she had brought forth she heard her Son
First speaking in the Annunciation:
And then, even then, before she brought forth child,
By name of Blessed shee herselfe instilde.
Once more this mighty word his people greets,
Thus lapt and thus swath'd upp in paper sheets:
Read here God's Image with a zealous eye,
The legible and written Deity.
poem by William Strode
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Life
(words & music by milete)
Somewhere out in empty space,
Long before the human race,
Something stirred,
A vast and timeless source began,
Intelligence was born and then,
There was the world,
Powers filled the universe,
Matter formed and broke the curse,
Of nothingness,
Love became an ageless soul,
Nature reached her highest goal,
And breathed the breath of life,
Everlasting life.
Well creatures come from out of sight,
Daylight came from in the night,
And all was good,
Life became a masterplan,
Love produced the perfect man,
That understood,
The image of the makers word,
Worshipped him with all he had,
But then one day,
From in the depths an evil seed,
Grew and manufactured greed,
That changed the way of life,
Everlasting life,
Oh the loving power looked and saw,
Inside the heart of man a flaw,
Began to grow,
Well, the fires of hell began to burn,
And so he sent his chosen son,
To let us know,
That love had surely made us all,
And hate would surely make us fall,
So from the cross,
Well he showed the world that dreadful day,
That love could be the only way,
Or all is lost of life,
Everlasting life,
For life is love,
And love is life.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother Durga Vavroovahana Patra
Mother Durgadevee appears in Autumn;
Beauteous looks each dawn.
Appears in the tranquil hour;
Beautifies the lap of Nature.
Mother descends to provide peace;
Is a Brook of Divine Bliss.
Is omnipresent everywhere;
Is the Deity of Nature.
Nature exists with Her desire;
She is the operator of Nature.
Creatures exist with her desire;
She is all creatures operator.
Human beings exists with her desire;
She is our path shower.
I behold mother everywhere;
She is the Deity of Nature.
Divine mother appears pervading rays of fraternity;
Is an ocean of gaiety.
Is a Brook of purity;
Is Earth's light.
Mother's blessings, desire brings self-confidence;
All creatures live with her bliss.
She shows the right way;
In our life brings gay.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Psalm 68 part 2
v.17,18
L. M.
Christ's ascension, and the gift of the Spirit.
Lord, when thou didst ascend on high,
Ten thousand angels filled the sky;
Those heav'nly guards around thee wait,
Like chariots that attend thy state.
Not Sinai's mountain could appear
More glorious when the Lord was there;
While he pronounced his dreadful law,
And struck the chosen tribes with awe.
How bright the triumph none can tell,
When the rebellious powers of hell,
That thousand souls had captive made,
Were all in chains like captives led.
Raised by his Father to the throne,
He sent the promised Spirit down
With gifts and grace for rebel men,
That God might dwell on earth again.
poem by Isaac Watts
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