Date: 1692

"We Truth by a Refracted ray / View, like the Sun at Ebb of day: / Whom the gross, treacherous Atmosphere / Makes where it is not, to appear."

— Norris, John (1657-1712)

Date: 1710 [1719, 1729]

"As solid Shores contain the liquid Seas, / Just so the Stomach, a soft watry Mass, / Stagnates beneath and fills the lower Space: / Here, Winds, and Rains, and humid Vapours lie, / And these exhal'd with Heat, all upwards fly: / As mantling Clouds conceal the fickly Sun, / Dissolve in Dew and dr...

— Oldisworth, William (1680-1734)

Date: 1710 [1719, 1729]

"Black Night comes on, and interrupts the Day, / E'er it can chase the Mists and Fogs away; / The Dregs of Flesh and Drossy Lees, o'errun / The Soul, and weigh the strugling Spirit down:"

— Oldisworth, William (1680-1734)

Date: 1713

"[I]mpetuous Passions" may "toss the Soul, /And Tides of boiling Blood reluctant roll."

— Trapp, Joseph (1679-1747)

Date: 1714

"Storms of neighbouring Atoms tear the Soul"

— Evans, Abel (1679-1737)

Date: 1715

"As unregarded thro' the Vaulted Skies, / The Wat'ry South in Noisy Tempest flies: / Just so the vain Expressions touch our Mind, / Nor any strong Impressions leave behind."

— Oldisworth, William (1680-1734)

Date: 1739

"My GOD, what is a Human Heart? / Silver or Gold, or precious Stone; / Or Star, or Rainbow; or a Part / Of All, or all thy World in One?"

— Wesley, John and Charles

Date: 1749

"Yet should thy Soul indulge the gen'rous Heat, / Till captive Science yields her last Retreat / Should Reason guide thee with her brightest Ray, / And pour on misty Doubt resistless Day; / Should no false Kindness lure to loose Delight, / Nor Praise relax, nor Difficulty fright; / Should temptin...

— Johnson, Samuel (1709-1784)

Date: 1762

"I cannot reach that heavenly shore, / The gusts of passion rise / So fierce, so high the billows roll, / And on this long afflicted soul / So huge a tempest lies"

— Wesley, John and Charles

Date: 1770

"But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. / As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, / Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, / Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, / Eternal sunshine settles on its head."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)