Who is Phillips Brooks

Phillips Brooks (December 13, 1835 – January 23, 1893) was an American Episcopal clergyman and author, long the Rector of Boston's Trinity Church and briefly Bishop of Massachusetts. He wrote the lyrics of the Christmas hymn, "O Little Town of Bethlehem".

He is honored on the Episcopal Church liturgical calendar on January 23.

Background

Early life and education

Born in Boston, Brooks was descended through his father, William Gray Brooks, from the Rev. John Cotton; through his mother, Mary Ann Phillips, he was a great-grandson of Samuel Phillips, Jr., founder of Phillips Academy (Andover, Massachusetts). Three of Brooks' five brothers – Frederic, Arthur and John Cotton – were eventually ordained in the Episcopal Church.

Phill...
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Phillips Brooks Poems

  • O Little Town Of Bethlehem
    O little town of Bethlehem,
    How still we see thee lie!
    Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
    The silent stars go by:...
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Top 10 most used topics by Phillips Brooks

Love 1 Gift 1 Dear 1 I Love You 1 World 1 Together 1 Son 1 Sleep 1 Peace 1 Night 1


Phillips Brooks Quotes

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Comments about Phillips Brooks

Soxgarden: this brooks boyer thing is interesting. is he a douche? a ted phillips? a yes man. hawk pretty much said it. jason said his new contract negotiations were "kind of a pain, silly and unpleasant", while boyer said it went smoothly. another yes man it looks like. jerry's flunky.
Georgiatweetz: a man who lives right, and is right, has more power in his silence than another has by his words. -phillips brooks
Coloradotweetz: a man who lives right, and is right, has more power in his silence than another has by his words. -phillips brooks
Arizonatweetz: a man who lives right, and is right, has more power in his silence than another has by his words. -phillips brooks
Conntweetz: a man who lives right, and is right, has more power in his silence than another has by his words. -phillips brooks
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Poem of the day

Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey Poem
In A Copy Of Browning
 by Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey

Browning, old fellow,
Your leaves grow yellow,
Beginning to mellow
As seasons pass.
Your cover is wrinkled,
And stained and sprinkled,
And warped and crinkled
From sleep on the grass.
...

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