Hannah More - The works of Hannah More (1801)

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If faith produce no works, I see That faith is not a living tree. Thus faith and works together grow, No separate life they never can know. They're soul and body, hand and heart, What God hath joined, let no man part.

Hannah More
The idle, life's worst burthens bear,
And, what toil escapes, despair!

Hannah More
The soul on earth is an immortal guest,
Compelled to starve at an unreal feast:
A spark, which upward tends by nature's force:
A stream diverted from its parent source;
A drop dissever'd from the boundless sea;
A moment, parted from eternity;
A pilgrim panting for the rest to come;
An exile, anxious for his native home.

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The artful injury, whose venomed dart scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the heart.

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By one slight insinuation,
One scarce perceiv'd exaggeration;
Sly Ridicule, with half a word,
Can fix her stigma of — absurd.

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My plan of instruction is extremely simple and limited. They learn, on week-days, such coarse works as may fit them for servants. I allow of no writing for the poor. My object is not to make fanatics, but to train up the lower classes in habits of industry and piety.

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All reformations seem formidable before they are attempted.

Hannah More
Sparks electric only strike
On souls electrical alike;
The flash of intellect expires,
Unless it meet congenial fires.

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He fell into the common error of those who begin to read late in life — that of thinking that what he did not know himself, was equally new to others; and he was apt to fancy that he and the author he was reading were the only two people in the world who knew any thing.

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He who finds he has wasted a shilling may by diligence hope to fetch it up again; but no repentance or industry can ever bring back one wasted hour.

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The world does not require so much to be informed as to be reminded.

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Temptation does not make the sin, it lies ready in the heart.

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His cheerfulness, which had arisen from an high opinion of himself, had been confirmed by a constant flow of uninterrupted success; and this is a sort of cheerfulness which is very liable to be impaired, because it lies at the mercy of every accident and cross event in life.

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Strange! that what is enjoyed without pleasure cannot be discontinued without pain!

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Oblivion has been noticed as the offspring of silence.

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The keen spirit
Seizes the prompt occasion, makes the thought
Start into instant action, and at once
Plans and performs, resolves and executes!

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She had never yet been guilty of so mean and pitiful a weakness as to forgive any one; for to pardon an injury always showed either want of spirit to feel it, or want of power to resent it.

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That night no sleep his eyelids prest,
He thought; and thought's a foe to rest.

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It may be in morals as it is in optics, the eye and the object may come too close to each other, to answer the end of vision. There are certain faults which press too near our self-love to be even perceptible to us.

Hannah More