Eastern Proverbs and Emblems by James Long

Author:James Long [Long, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781136374128
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 18380749
Publisher: Routledge
Published: 2001-07-26T00:00:00+00:00

Time like a Mail-Post, Swift Ships, Eagles.—JOB 9. 25,26.

Time, in its rapid devastating course, is compared to a flood, Ps. 90. 5; to a tale that is told, Ps. 90. 9; a hand-breadth, Ps. 39. 5; a dream, Ps. 73. 20; a weaver’s shuttle, Job 7. 6.

In Job’s days human life had been gradually shortening from 500 to 70 years.

The dromedary post, though not as quick as a horse in a given space, yet maintains an uniform continued progress.

Time is like a mail-post, in four points:

1. The postman rides on swift horses 150 miles a day, while the caravan moves only at two miles an hour.

2. Changes in order to increase speed.

3. Delays little for rest or mere salutation, Luke 10. 4.

4. Alloivs no obstruction on the road. The Persian messengers could, by royal authority, press horses, men, or ships, so as to expedite them, Esth. 3. 15.

The post may be stayed, but the sun never stops.

Swift ships—i.e., made of papyrus of the Nile—which cut through the water with easy speed.

Italian.—Time is an inaudible file.

Greek.—Man is a bubble.

Bengal.—There is no hand to catch time.

Canara.—Life is a lamp exposed to the wind, Jas. 4. 14.

Arab.—Who is able to restore what was yesterday, or to plaster over the rays of the sun?

Persian.—The best teacher is time.

China.—As wave follows wave so new men take old men’s places.

China.—Men live like birds together in a wood:

When the time comes each takes his flight.

China.—A generation is like a swift horse passing a crevice.

China.—When we take off our boots and stockings to-day, That we shall wear them to-morrow who can say?

Canara.—The pearl though originating in water does not become water again, Prov. 4. 18, 1 Cor. 13. 11.

Oriental.—The world has nothing constant, but its instability.

Arab.—Every day in thy life is a leaf in thy history, Prov. 27.1.

Kathá Saritságar.—The rivers, the flowers, the moon’s phases, disappear but return, not so youth.

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