Henry Hart Milman Quotes (1791-1868)

“Death cannot come To him untimely who is fit to die; The less of this cold world, the more of heaven; The briefer life, the earlier immortality.”

“The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard: Lo, the depths of the stone-cover'd charnels are stirr'd: From the sea, from the land, from the south and the north, The vast generations of man are come forth.”

“Bound upon the accurséd tree, Faint and bleeding, who is he? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood, and writhing limb; By the flesh, with scourges torn; By the crown of twisted thorn; By the side so deeply pierced; By the baffled, burning thirst; By the drooping death-dewed brow: Son of Man, ’tis thou!’t is thou! Bound upon the accurséd tree, Dread and awful, who is he? By the sun at noonday pale, Shivering rocks, and rending veil: By earth, that trembles at his doom; By yonder saints who burst their tomb; By Eden promised, ere he died, To the felon at his side; Lord, our suppliant knees we bow: Son of God, ’tis thou! ’tis thou! Bound upon the accurséd tree, Sad and dying, who is he? By the last and bitter cry; The ghost given up in agony; By the lifeless body laid In the chamber of the dead; By the mourners come to weep Where the bones of Jesus sleep; Crucified! we know thee now: Son of Man, ’tis thou! ’tis thou! Bound upon the accurséd tree, Dread and awful, who is he? By the prayer for them that slew,— “Lord, they know not what they do!” By the spoiled and empty grave; By the souls he died to save; By the conquest he hath won; By the saints before his throne: By the rainbow round his brow; Son of God, ’tis thou! ’tis thou!”

“Bound upon the accurséd tree, Faint and bleeding, who is he? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood, and writhing limb; By the flesh, with scourges torn; By the crown of twisted thorn; By the side so deeply pierced; By the baffled, burning thirst; By the drooping death-dewed brow: Son of Man, ’tis thou!’t is thou! Bound upon the accurséd tree, Dread and awful, who is he? By the sun at noonday pale, Shivering rocks, and rending veil: By earth, that trembles at his doom; By yonder saints who burst their tomb; By Eden promised, ere he died, To the felon at his side; Lord, our suppliant knees we bow: Son of God, ’tis thou! ’tis thou! Bound upon the accurséd tree, Sad and dying, who is he? By the last and bitter cry; The ghost given up in agony; By the lifeless body laid In the chamber of the dead; By the mourners come to weep Where the bones of Jesus sleep; Crucified! we know thee now: Son of Man, ’tis thou! ’tis thou! Bound upon the accurséd tree, Dread and awful, who is he? By the prayer for them that slew,— “Lord, they know not what they do!” By the spoiled and empty grave; By the souls he died to save; By the conquest he hath won; By the saints before his throne: By the rainbow round his brow; Son of God, ’tis thou! ’tis thou!”

“His mind was by no means speculative. His was the plain, practical philosophy of common sense... the wisdom of Horace—it may be said without disparagement, for it was the only real attainable wisdom—was that of the world.”

“No one in the present day will differ much from you in your estimate of the mediocrity of Addington and his Government as to abilities and intellect. Sincere as was my regard and esteem for him, and however warm my gratitude for his kindness, hospitality, and friendship (I never in my life met with a more honourable, upright, generous man, one whose judgment I would sooner have abided by in any question of honour or principle), I must acknowledge that he never seemed to me, according to the phrase, up to the very high position which he had attained.”

“His intellect may have lacked originality, but he was a pioneer in the study of Sanscrit poetry and in the application of criticism to Jewish history.”

“Brilliant and numerous as are the works of the late Dean Milman, it was those only who had the great privilege of his friendship who could fully realise the amazing extent and variety of his knowledge; the calm, luminous, and delicate judgment which he carried into so many spheres; the inimitable grace and tact of his conversation, coruscating with the happiest anecdotes, and the brightest and yet the gentlest humour; and what was perhaps more remarkable than any single faculty, the admirable harmony and symmetry of his mind and character, so free from all the disproportion, and eccentricity, and exaggeration, that sometimes make even genius assume the form of a splendid disease. They can never forget those yet higher attributes, which rendered him so unspeakably reverent to all who knew him well—his fervent love of truth, his wide tolerance, his large, generous, and masculine judgments of men and things; his almost instinctive perception of the good that is latent in each opposing party, his disdain for the noisy triumphs and the fleeting popularity of mere sectarian strife, the fond and touching affection with which he dwelt upon the images of the past, combining, even in extreme old age, with the keenest and most hopeful insight into the progressive movements of his time, and with a rare power of winning the confidence and reading the thoughts of the youngest about him.”

“He is a fine young man: and his powers are very great. They are, however, better fitted for the drama than for narration; the drama admits his favourite strain of composition, and is easier in its structure.”