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An Arrangement of the Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs of the Rev. Isaac Watts

This book is a compilation of Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs arranged by the Rev. Isaac Watts, a prominent figure in the development of English hymnody. Watts' work is celebrated for its influence on the religious music of his time and beyond. more

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Isaac Watts
Isaac Watts

Isaac Watts was an English writer, primarily known for his hymns and educational works. Born on July 17, 1674, he is credited with shaping the hymnody of the English-speaking world. Watts' writings emphasized moral and spiritual themes, and he is remembered for his influential educational philosophy that emphasized the importance of early childhood education. more

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“Close to the Gates a spacious Garden lies, From the Storms defended and inclement Skies; Four Acres was the allotted Space of Ground, Fenc'd with a green Enclosure all around. Tall thriving Trees confessed the fruitful Mold: The reddening Apple ripens here to Gold, Here the blue Fig with luscious Juice overflows, With deeper Red the full Pomegranate glows, The Branch here bends beneath the weighty Pear, And verdant Olives flourish round the Year.”

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“Toward seven o'clock every morning, I leave my study and step Out on the bright terrace; the sun already burns resplendent Between the shadows of the fig tree, makes the low wall of coarse Granite warm to the touch. Here my tools lie ready and waiting, Each one an intimate, an ally: the round basket for weeds: The zappetta, the small hoe with a short haft . . . There's a rake here as well, at at times a mattock and spade, Or two watering cans filled with water warmed by the sun. With my basket and small hoe in hand, facing the sun, I Go out for my morning walk.”

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“Christmas Pie Lo! now is come our joyfull'st feast! Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with bakemeats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And ever more be merry.”

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