Maxioms by Richard Baxter
I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.
I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men.
Ye holy angels bright, Who wait at God's right hand, Or through the realms of light Fly at your Lord's read more
Ye holy angels bright, Who wait at God's right hand, Or through the realms of light Fly at your Lord's command, Assist our song; For else the theme Too high doth seem For mortal tongue. Ye blessed souls at rest, Who ran this earthly race, And now, from sin released, Behold the Saviour's face, God's praises sound, As in his sight, With sweet delight, Ye do abound. Ye saints, who toil below, Adore your heavenly King. And onward as ye go Some joyful anthem sing; Take what he gives And praise him still, Through good or ill, Who ever lives! My soul, bear thou thy part, Triumph in God above: And with a well-tuned heart Sing thou the songs of love! Let all thy days Till life shall end, Whate'er he send, Be filled with praise.
An ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow.
An ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow.
Commemoration of Richard Baxter, Priest, Hymnographer, Teacher, 1691 Lord, it belongs not to my care, Whether I die or read more
Commemoration of Richard Baxter, Priest, Hymnographer, Teacher, 1691 Lord, it belongs not to my care, Whether I die or live; To love and serve Thee is my share, And this Thy grace must give. If life be long I will be glad, That I may long obey; If short--yet why should I be sad To soar to endless day? Christ leads me through no darker rooms Than He went through before; He that unto God's kingdom comes, Must enter by this door. Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet Thy blessed face to see; For if Thy work on earth be sweet, What will Thy glory be! Then shall I end my sad complaints, And weary, sinful days; And join with the triumphant saints, To sing Jehovah's praise. My knowledge of that life is small, The eye of faith is dim; But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with him.
Hell is paved with infants' skulls.
Hell is paved with infants' skulls.
