Reginald Heber Quotes
1783–1826 England
Reginald Heber (21 April 1783 – 3 April 1826) was an English bishop, now remembered chiefly as a hymn-writer.
- England
- Hymnwriters
- Musicians
- Poets
Also known as: Bishop Heber, Heber, Reginald
Random Reginald Heber quote
23 quotes
Eternity has no gray hairs! The flowers fade, the heart withers, man grows old and dies, the world lies down in the sepulchre of ages, but time writes no wrinkles on the brow of Eternity.
Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb.
What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile.
When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.
The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.
Before, beside us, and above
The firefly lights his lamp of love.
Failed the bright promise of your early day?
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid.
Star of the east the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung,
Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung.
Majestic silence.
What tho' the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile?
I see them on their winding way,
About their ranks the moonbeams play.
The Moonlight March (1828)
Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower.
The fortifications of the city ...are so like those of the Kremlin that I could almost have fancied myself at Moscow.
Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still.
Beneath our feet and o'er our head
Is equal warning given:
Beneath us lie the countless dead,
Above us is the heaven!
Death rides on every passing breeze,
And lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril every hour.
By cool Siloam's shady rill
How sweet the lily grows!
We deny our Lord whenever, like Demas, we through love of this present world forsake the course of duty which Christ has plainly pointed out to us.
With drooping bells of clearest blue
Thou didst attract my childish view,
Almost resembling
The azure butterflies that flew
Where on the heath thy blossoms grew
So lightly trembling.
Remember that every guilty compliance with the humors of the world, every sinful indulgence of our own passions, is laying up cares and fears for the hour of darkness; and that the remembrance of ill-spent time will strew our sick-bed with thorns, and rack our sinking spirits with despair.
The Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain;
His blood red banner streams afar:
Who follows in His train?
Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in His train.