Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber!

Holy angels guard thy bed!

Heavenly blessings without number

Gently falling on thy head.

Isaac Watts (1674-1748): A Cradle Hymn.

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod:

They have left unstained what there they found,—

Freedom to worship God.

John Keble (1792-1866): Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 88.

And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 21.

The holy time is quiet as a nun

Breathless with adoration.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): It is a beauteous Evening.

And thus I clothe my naked villany

With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ,

And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 3.

Trifles light as air

Are to the jealous confirmations strong

As proofs of holy writ.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act iii. Sc. 3.