BREATH—BREATHING.
By the blast of God they perish, and by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed.—Job, iv. 9.
Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled: thou takest away their breath, they die, and return to their dust.—Psalm civ. 29.
Behold, the name of the Lord cometh from far, burning with his anger, and the burden thereof is heavy: his lips are full of indignation, and his tongue as a devouring fire.
And his breath, as an overflowing stream, shall reach to the midst of the neck.—Isaiah, xxx. 27, 28.
Thou hast heard my voice: hide not thine ear at my breathing, at my cry.—Lamentations, iii. 56.
Since I in storms most used to be,
And seldom yielded flowers,
How shall I get a wreath for thee
From those rude barren hours?
The softer dressings of the spring,
Or summer’s later store,
I will not for thy temples bring,
Which thorns, not roses, wore:
But a twined wreath of grief and praise,
Praise soiled with tears, and tears again
Shining with joy, like dewy days,
This day I bring for all thy pain,
Thy causeless pain; and as sad death,
Which sadness breeds in the most vain,
O not in vain; now beg thy breath,
Thy quick’ning breath, which gladly bears
Through saddest clouds to that glad place
Where cloudless quires sing without tears,
Sing thy just praise, and see thy face.
Henry Vaughan.
As those we love decay, we die in part,
String after string is severed from the heart;
Till loosened life, at last, but breathing clay,
Without one pang is glad to fall away.
Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
Whose eyes have wept o’er every friend, laid low,
Dragged lingering on, from partial death to death,
Till, dying, all he can resign is breath.
Thomson.