Loading...
The orthodox, historical consensus of biblical interpretation.
Key question: “What is the most widely accepted and historically grounded understanding of this text?”
25,889 sermon illustrations through the Traditional lens
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome, I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome: 'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will tent me when I cry? Wha will kiss me where I lie? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t. O wha will own he did the faut? O wha will buy the groanin maut?
IT was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon’s unclouded light, I held awa to Annie; The time flew by, wi’ tentless heed, Till, ’tween the late and early, Wi’ sma’ persuasion she agreed To see me thro’ the barley.
We sow the glebe, we reap the corn, We build the house where we may rest, And then, at moments, suddenly, We look up to the great wide sky, Inquiring wherefore we were born… For earnest or for jest?
Life is real, life is earnest, And the shell is not its pen – “Egg thou art, and egg remainest” Was not spoken of the hen.
they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth: And Constancy lives in realms above; And Life is thorny; and youth is vain: And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the...
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
So stick up ivy and the bays, And then restore the heathen ways. Green will remind you of the spring, Though this great day denies the thing.
Of this worlds theatre in which we stay, My love like the spectator ydly sits Beholding me that all the pageants play, Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run.
You have asked for a verse:--the request In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny; But my Hippocrene was but my breast, And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
With what deep murmurs through time's silent stealth Doth thy transparent, cool, and wat'ry wealth Here flowing fall, And chide, and call, As if his liquid, loose retinue stay'd Ling'ring, and were of this steep place afraid; The common pass...
Black grows the southern sky, betokening rain, And humming hive-bees homeward hurry bye: They feel the change; so let us shun the grain, And take the broad road while our feet are dry. Ay, there some dropples moistened on my...
I dwelt alone In a world of moan, And my soul was a stagnant tide, Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride-- Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride. Ah, less--less bright The stars of...
And said I that all hope was fled, That sorrow and despair were mine, That each enthusiast wish was dead, Had sank beneath pale Misery's shrine.-- Seest thou the sunbeam's yellow glow, That robes with liquid streams of light; Yon distant Mountain's craggy brow.
Go, sit upon the lofty hill, And turn your eyes around, Where waving woods and waters wild Do hymn an autumn sound. The summer sun is faint on them -- The summer flowers depart -- Sit still -- as all...
How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs, Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me; Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs, But not an eye can find its way to see.
The Saviour, what a noble flame Was kindled in his breast, When hasting to Jerusalem, He march'd before the rest. Good will to men, and zeal for God, His every thought engross; He longs to be baptized with blood, He pants to reach the cross!
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
The passing traveller with wonder sees A deep and ancient stonepit full of trees; So deep and very deep the place has been, The church might stand within and not be seen.
When fierce conflicting passions urge The breast, where love is wont to glow, What mind can stem the stormy surge Which rolls the tide of human woe?
I fled Him down the nights and down the days I fled Him down the arches of the years I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears I hid from him, and under running laughter.
Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country's strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he...
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind.