work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3206,Soliloquy,"Reading and researching ""soliloquy"" in HDIS; found again in Google Books.",2004-03-10 00:00:00 UTC,"A Penitential Soliloquy
What tho' no Objects strike upon the Sight,--
Thy Sacred Presence is an inward Light.
What tho' no Sounds should penetrate the Ear,--
To list'ning Thought the Voice of Truth is clear.
Sincere Devotion needs no outward shrine:
The Centre of an humble Soul is Thine.
There may I worship, and there may'st Thou place
Thy Seat of Mercy and Thy Throne of Grace;
Yea, fix, if Christ my Advocate appear,
The dread Tribunal of Thy Justice there!
Let each vain Thought, let each impure Desire
Meet in Thy Wrath with a consuming Fire!
Whilst the kind Rigours of a righteous Doom
All deadly Filth of selfish Pride consume,
Thou, Lord, can'st raise, tho' punishing for Sin,
The Joys of peaceful Penitence within.
Thy Justice and Thy Mercy both are sweet
That make our suff'rings and Salvation meet.
Befall me, then, whatever God shall please!
His Wounds are healing, and His Griefs give Ease;
He, like a true Physician of the Soul,
Applies the Med'cine that may make it whole.
I'll do, I'll suffer whatsoe'er He wills:
I see His Aim thro' all these transient Ills.
'Tis to infuse a salutary Grief,
To fit the Mind for absolute Relief,
That, purg'd from ev'ry false and finite Love,
Dead to the World, alive to Things above,
The Soul may rise, as in its first-form'd Youth,
And worship God ""in Spirit and in Truth.""
",2012-03-12,8435,"• Also, search Byrom's poems.They seem to be richly metaphorical.
• Reviewed 2007-04-20, also, later treated by SDM.","""What tho' no Objects strike upon the Sight,-- / Thy Sacred Presence is an inward Light.""",Optics,2012-03-12 19:15:57 UTC,I've included the entire poem
4751,Blank Slate,"Searching ""tabula rasa"" in ECCO",2006-10-10 00:00:00 UTC,"2. Sin disengages God from shewing love to the creature, by taking away that similitude that is between God and him; which (as has been observed) was one cause of that love. The creature, indeed, still retains that resemblance of God that consists in being; but the greatest resemblance, that consists in moral perfections, this is totally lost and defaced. A mere existence or being is an indifferent thing, ('tis a Rasa Tabula) that may be coloured over with sin or holiness: and accordingly it receives its value from these; as a picture is esteemed not from the materials upon which it is drawn, but from the draught itself. Holiness elevates the worth of the being in which it is, and is of more value than the being itself. As in scarlet, the bare dye is of greater value than the cloath. Sin debases the being in which it is; and makes the soul more unlike God, in respect of its qualities, than it is like him in respect of its substance. 'Tis not the alliance of flesh and blood, but the resemblance of virtue, that makes the greatest likeness between the father and son. [...]
(vol.viii, p. 124)",,12573,•I've included twice: Tabula Rasa and Picture,"""A mere existence or being is an indifferent thing, ('tis a Rasa Tabula) that may be coloured over with sin or holiness: and accordingly it receives its value from these; as a picture is esteemed not from the materials upon which it is drawn, but from the draught itself.""",Writing,2009-09-14 19:37:08 UTC,Sermon V
4751,"",Searching in ECCO,2006-10-10 00:00:00 UTC,"2. Sin disengages God from shewing love to the creature, by taking away that similitude that is between God and him; which (as has been observed) was one cause of that love. The creature, indeed, still retains that resemblance of God that consists in being; but the greatest resemblance, that consists in moral perfections, this is totally lost and defaced. A mere existence or being is an indifferent thing, ('tis a Rasa Tabula) that may be coloured over with sin or holiness: and accordingly it receives its value from these; as a picture is esteemed not from the materials upon which it is drawn, but from the draught itself. Holiness elevates the worth of the being in which it is, and is of more value than the being itself. As in scarlet, the bare dye is of greater value than the cloath. Sin debases the being in which it is; and makes the soul more unlike God, in respect of its qualities, than it is like him in respect of its substance. 'Tis not the alliance of flesh and blood, but the resemblance of virtue, that makes the greatest likeness between the father and son. [...]
(vol.viii, p. 124)",2008-12-03,12575,•I've included twice: Cloth and Dye,"""Holiness elevates the worth of the being in which it is, and is of more value than the being itself. As in scarlet, the bare dye is of greater value than the cloath.""","",2009-09-14 19:37:08 UTC,Sermon V
6366,Blank Slate,"Searching ""soul"" and ""blank"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again searching ""paper""",2005-03-07 00:00:00 UTC,"Strong Passions draw, like Horses that are strong,
The Body-Coach of Flesh and Blood along;
While subtle Reason, with each Rein in Hand,
Sits on the Box, and has them at Command;
Rais'd up aloft, to see and to be seen,
Judges the Track, and guides the gay Machine.
But was it made for nothing else beside
Passions to draw, and Reason to be Guide?
Was so much Art employ'd to drag and drive
Nothing within the Vehicle alive?
No seated Mind, that claims the moving Pew,
Master of Passions, and of Reason too?
The grand Contrivance why so well equip
With strength of Passions, rul'd by Reason's Whip?
Vainly profuse had Apparatus been,
Did not a reigning Spirit rest within;
Which Passions carry, and sound Reason means
To render present at pre-order'd Scenes.
They who are loud in human Reason's Praise,
And celebrate the Drivers of our Days,
Seem to suppose, by their continual Bawl,
That Passions, Reason, and Machine, is all;
To them the Windows are drawn up, and clear
Nothing that does not outwardly appear.
Matter and Motion, and superior Man
By Head and Shoulders, form their reas'ning Plan.
View'd and demurely ponder'd, as they roll,
And scoring Traces on the Paper Soul,
Blank, shaven white, they fill th' unfurnish'd Pate
With new Idéas, none of them innate.
When these Adepts are got upon a Box,
Away they gallop thro' the gazing Flocks;
Trappings admir'd, and the high-mettl'd Brute
And Reason balancing its either Foot;
While seeing Eyes discern, at their Approach,
Fulness of Skill, and emptiness of Coach.
'Tis very well that lively Passions draw,
That sober Reason keeps them all in Awe,--
The one to run, the other to control,
And drive directly to the destin'd Goal.
""What Goal?""--Ay, there the Question should begin:
What Spirit drives the willing Mind within?
Sense, Reason, Passions, and the like, are still
One self-same Man, whose Action is his Will;
Whose Will, if right, will soon renounce the Pride
Of an own Reason for an only Guide;
As God's unerring Spirit shall inspire,
Will still direct the Drift of his Desire.",2012-07-05,16837,•INTEREST. Rich poem. Should spend more time with it.,"Materialist philosophers describe ""scoring Traces on the Paper Soul, / Blank, shaven white, they fill th' unfurnish'd Pate / With new Idéas, none of them innate.""",Writing,2012-07-05 04:52:50 UTC,""
3206,Mind's Ear,Reading; found again in Google Books.,2007-04-20 00:00:00 UTC,"A Penitential Soliloquy
What tho' no Objects strike upon the Sight,--
Thy Sacred Presence is an inward Light.
What tho' no Sounds should penetrate the Ear,--
To list'ning Thought the Voice of Truth is clear.
Sincere Devotion needs no outward shrine:
The Centre of an humble Soul is Thine.
There may I worship, and there may'st Thou place
Thy Seat of Mercy and Thy Throne of Grace;
Yea, fix, if Christ my Advocate appear,
The dread Tribunal of Thy Justice there!
Let each vain Thought, let each impure Desire
Meet in Thy Wrath with a consuming Fire!
Whilst the kind Rigours of a righteous Doom
All deadly Filth of selfish Pride consume,
Thou, Lord, can'st raise, tho' punishing for Sin,
The Joys of peaceful Penitence within.
Thy Justice and Thy Mercy both are sweet
That make our suff'rings and Salvation meet.
Befall me, then, whatever God shall please!
His Wounds are healing, and His Griefs give Ease;
He, like a true Physician of the Soul,
Applies the Med'cine that may make it whole.
I'll do, I'll suffer whatsoe'er He wills:
I see His Aim thro' all these transient Ills.
'Tis to infuse a salutary Grief,
To fit the Mind for absolute Relief,
That, purg'd from ev'ry false and finite Love,
Dead to the World, alive to Things above,
The Soul may rise, as in its first-form'd Youth,
And worship God ""in Spirit and in Truth.""
",2012-03-12,16973,• Interest. The mind's ear: more internal sensation.,"""What tho' no Sounds should penetrate the Ear,-- / To list'ning Thought the Voice of Truth is clear.""","",2012-03-12 19:17:41 UTC,I've included the whole poem
3206,"",Reading; found again in Google Books,2007-04-20 00:00:00 UTC,"A Penitential Soliloquy
What tho' no Objects strike upon the Sight,--
Thy Sacred Presence is an inward Light.
What tho' no Sounds should penetrate the Ear,--
To list'ning Thought the Voice of Truth is clear.
Sincere Devotion needs no outward shrine:
The Centre of an humble Soul is Thine.
There may I worship, and there may'st Thou place
Thy Seat of Mercy and Thy Throne of Grace;
Yea, fix, if Christ my Advocate appear,
The dread Tribunal of Thy Justice there!
Let each vain Thought, let each impure Desire
Meet in Thy Wrath with a consuming Fire!
Whilst the kind Rigours of a righteous Doom
All deadly Filth of selfish Pride consume,
Thou, Lord, can'st raise, tho' punishing for Sin,
The Joys of peaceful Penitence within.
Thy Justice and Thy Mercy both are sweet
That make our suff'rings and Salvation meet.
Befall me, then, whatever God shall please!
His Wounds are healing, and His Griefs give Ease;
He, like a true Physician of the Soul,
Applies the Med'cine that may make it whole.
I'll do, I'll suffer whatsoe'er He wills:
I see His Aim thro' all these transient Ills.
'Tis to infuse a salutary Grief,
To fit the Mind for absolute Relief,
That, purg'd from ev'ry false and finite Love,
Dead to the World, alive to Things above,
The Soul may rise, as in its first-form'd Youth,
And worship God ""in Spirit and in Truth.""
",2012-03-12,16974,"","""Sincere Devotion needs no outward shrine: / The Centre of an humble Soul is Thine.""","",2012-03-12 19:18:32 UTC,I've included the whole poem
3206,"",Reading; found again in Google Books.,2007-04-20 00:00:00 UTC,"A Penitential Soliloquy
What tho' no Objects strike upon the Sight,--
Thy Sacred Presence is an inward Light.
What tho' no Sounds should penetrate the Ear,--
To list'ning Thought the Voice of Truth is clear.
Sincere Devotion needs no outward shrine:
The Centre of an humble Soul is Thine.
There may I worship, and there may'st Thou place
Thy Seat of Mercy and Thy Throne of Grace;
Yea, fix, if Christ my Advocate appear,
The dread Tribunal of Thy Justice there!
Let each vain Thought, let each impure Desire
Meet in Thy Wrath with a consuming Fire!
Whilst the kind Rigours of a righteous Doom
All deadly Filth of selfish Pride consume,
Thou, Lord, can'st raise, tho' punishing for Sin,
The Joys of peaceful Penitence within.
Thy Justice and Thy Mercy both are sweet
That make our suff'rings and Salvation meet.
Befall me, then, whatever God shall please!
His Wounds are healing, and His Griefs give Ease;
He, like a true Physician of the Soul,
Applies the Med'cine that may make it whole.
I'll do, I'll suffer whatsoe'er He wills:
I see His Aim thro' all these transient Ills.
'Tis to infuse a salutary Grief,
To fit the Mind for absolute Relief,
That, purg'd from ev'ry false and finite Love,
Dead to the World, alive to Things above,
The Soul may rise, as in its first-form'd Youth,
And worship God ""in Spirit and in Truth.""
",2012-03-12,16975,"• I've included thrice: Seat, Throne, Tribunal","""There may I worship, and there may'st Thou place / Thy Seat of Mercy and Thy Throne of Grace; / Yea, fix, if Christ my Advocate appear, / The dread Tribunal of Thy Justice there!""",Court and Throne,2012-03-12 19:19:51 UTC,I've included the whole poem
3206,"",Reading; found again in Google Books,2007-04-20 00:00:00 UTC,"A Penitential Soliloquy
What tho' no Objects strike upon the Sight,--
Thy Sacred Presence is an inward Light.
What tho' no Sounds should penetrate the Ear,--
To list'ning Thought the Voice of Truth is clear.
Sincere Devotion needs no outward shrine:
The Centre of an humble Soul is Thine.
There may I worship, and there may'st Thou place
Thy Seat of Mercy and Thy Throne of Grace;
Yea, fix, if Christ my Advocate appear,
The dread Tribunal of Thy Justice there!
Let each vain Thought, let each impure Desire
Meet in Thy Wrath with a consuming Fire!
Whilst the kind Rigours of a righteous Doom
All deadly Filth of selfish Pride consume,
Thou, Lord, can'st raise, tho' punishing for Sin,
The Joys of peaceful Penitence within.
Thy Justice and Thy Mercy both are sweet
That make our suff'rings and Salvation meet.
Befall me, then, whatever God shall please!
His Wounds are healing, and His Griefs give Ease;
He, like a true Physician of the Soul,
Applies the Med'cine that may make it whole.
I'll do, I'll suffer whatsoe'er He wills:
I see His Aim thro' all these transient Ills.
'Tis to infuse a salutary Grief,
To fit the Mind for absolute Relief,
That, purg'd from ev'ry false and finite Love,
Dead to the World, alive to Things above,
The Soul may rise, as in its first-form'd Youth,
And worship God ""in Spirit and in Truth.""
",2012-03-12,16978,I've included twice: Wounds and Disease,"""His Wounds are healing, and His Griefs give Ease; / He, like a true Physician of the Soul, / Applies the Med'cine that may make it whole.""","",2012-03-12 19:20:38 UTC,I've included the entire poem
6366,"","Searching ""passion"" and ""horse"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-07-05 04:57:32 UTC,"Strong Passions draw, like Horses that are strong,
The Body-Coach of Flesh and Blood along;
While subtle Reason, with each Rein in Hand,
Sits on the Box, and has them at Command;
Rais'd up aloft, to see and to be seen,
Judges the Track, and guides the gay Machine.
But was it made for nothing else beside
Passions to draw, and Reason to be Guide?
Was so much Art employ'd to drag and drive
Nothing within the Vehicle alive?
No seated Mind, that claims the moving Pew,
Master of Passions, and of Reason too?
The grand Contrivance why so well equip
With strength of Passions, rul'd by Reason's Whip?
Vainly profuse had Apparatus been,
Did not a reigning Spirit rest within;
Which Passions carry, and sound Reason means
To render present at pre-order'd Scenes.
They who are loud in human Reason's Praise,
And celebrate the Drivers of our Days,
Seem to suppose, by their continual Bawl,
That Passions, Reason, and Machine, is all;
To them the Windows are drawn up, and clear
Nothing that does not outwardly appear.
Matter and Motion, and superior Man
By Head and Shoulders, form their reas'ning Plan.
View'd and demurely ponder'd, as they roll,
And scoring Traces on the Paper Soul,
Blank, shaven white, they fill th' unfurnish'd Pate
With new Idéas, none of them innate.
When these Adepts are got upon a Box,
Away they gallop thro' the gazing Flocks;
Trappings admir'd, and the high-mettl'd Brute
And Reason balancing its either Foot;
While seeing Eyes discern, at their Approach,
Fulness of Skill, and emptiness of Coach.
'Tis very well that lively Passions draw,
That sober Reason keeps them all in Awe,--
The one to run, the other to control,
And drive directly to the destin'd Goal.
""What Goal?""--Ay, there the Question should begin:
What Spirit drives the willing Mind within?
Sense, Reason, Passions, and the like, are still
One self-same Man, whose Action is his Will;
Whose Will, if right, will soon renounce the Pride
Of an own Reason for an only Guide;
As God's unerring Spirit shall inspire,
Will still direct the Drift of his Desire.",,19858,"","""Strong Passions draw, like Horses that are strong, / The Body-Coach of Flesh and Blood along; / While subtle Reason, with each Rein in Hand, / Sits on the Box, and has them at Command; / Rais'd up aloft, to see and to be seen, / Judges the Track, and guides the gay Machine.""",Beasts,2012-07-05 04:57:32 UTC,""
6366,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2012-07-05 05:00:48 UTC,"Strong Passions draw, like Horses that are strong,
The Body-Coach of Flesh and Blood along;
While subtle Reason, with each Rein in Hand,
Sits on the Box, and has them at Command;
Rais'd up aloft, to see and to be seen,
Judges the Track, and guides the gay Machine.
But was it made for nothing else beside
Passions to draw, and Reason to be Guide?
Was so much Art employ'd to drag and drive
Nothing within the Vehicle alive?
No seated Mind, that claims the moving Pew,
Master of Passions, and of Reason too?
The grand Contrivance why so well equip
With strength of Passions, rul'd by Reason's Whip?
Vainly profuse had Apparatus been,
Did not a reigning Spirit rest within;
Which Passions carry, and sound Reason means
To render present at pre-order'd Scenes.
They who are loud in human Reason's Praise,
And celebrate the Drivers of our Days,
Seem to suppose, by their continual Bawl,
That Passions, Reason, and Machine, is all;
To them the Windows are drawn up, and clear
Nothing that does not outwardly appear.
Matter and Motion, and superior Man
By Head and Shoulders, form their reas'ning Plan.
View'd and demurely ponder'd, as they roll,
And scoring Traces on the Paper Soul,
Blank, shaven white, they fill th' unfurnish'd Pate
With new Idéas, none of them innate.
When these Adepts are got upon a Box,
Away they gallop thro' the gazing Flocks;
Trappings admir'd, and the high-mettl'd Brute
And Reason balancing its either Foot;
While seeing Eyes discern, at their Approach,
Fulness of Skill, and emptiness of Coach.
'Tis very well that lively Passions draw,
That sober Reason keeps them all in Awe,--
The one to run, the other to control,
And drive directly to the destin'd Goal.
""What Goal?""--Ay, there the Question should begin:
What Spirit drives the willing Mind within?
Sense, Reason, Passions, and the like, are still
One self-same Man, whose Action is his Will;
Whose Will, if right, will soon renounce the Pride
Of an own Reason for an only Guide;
As God's unerring Spirit shall inspire,
Will still direct the Drift of his Desire.",,19859,A metaphor in a metaphor: moving pew.,"""But was it made for nothing else beside / Passions to draw, and Reason to be Guide? / Was so much Art employ'd to drag and drive / Nothing within the Vehicle alive? / No seated Mind that claims the moving Pew, / Master of Passions, and of Reason too?""",Animals,2013-03-25 01:39:13 UTC,""