“Fly, like a youthful hart or roe,
Over the hills where spices grow.”

— Isaac Watts

Hymn 79, Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Book I.
Attributed from postum publications, Hymns and Spiritual Songs (1773)

Adopted from Wikiquote. Last update June 3, 2021. History

Help us to complete the source, original and additional information

Do you have more details about the quote "Fly, like a youthful hart or roe, Over the hills where spices grow." by Isaac Watts?

Isaac Watts 47

English hymnwriter, theologian and logician 1674–1748

Related quotes

“The owl flies, in the moonlight, over a field where the wounded cry out.

Like the owl, I fly in the night over my own misfortune.”

Georges Bataille (1897–1962) French intellectual and literary figure

Source: The Impossible

“Pleasant are the words of the song," said Cuthullin, "and lovely are the tales of other times. They are like the calm dew of the morning on the hill of roes, when the sun is faint on its side, and the lake is settled and blue in the vale.”

James Macpherson (1736–1796) Scottish writer, poet, translator, and politician

Book III
The Poems of Ossian, Fingal, an ancient Epic Poem

“With the troubled eyes of a youth
I envied
Birds flying—
Flying they sang.”

Takuboku Ishikawa (1886–1912) Japanese writer

A Handful of Sand ("Ichiaku no Suna"), as translated by Shio Sakanishi

“You know you're over the hill when the hill is over you.”

Jacob M. Appel book Millard Salter's Last Day

Millard Salter's Last Day (2017)

“A Spring returns, and they more youthful made;
But Man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.”

Anne Bradstreet (1612–1672) Anglo-American poet

Contemplations.

“The years thunder by. The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.”

Sterling Hayden (1916–1986) American actor

Book I : Man at Bay, Ch. 5
Wanderer (1963)
Context: "I’ve always wanted to sail to the South Seas, but I can’t afford it." What these men can’t afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of "security." And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine — and before we know it our lives are gone.
What does a man need — really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in — and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That's all — in the material sense, and we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention from the sheer idiocy of the charade.
The years thunder by. The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.
Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life? What follows is not a blueprint for the man entombed; not many people find themselves in a situation paying a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year (as if any man is worth that much). But the struggle is relative: it's a lot hard to walk away from an income like that than from a fraction thereof.