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The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all And every soul bawled out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.
William Cowper
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William Cowper
Age: 68 †
Born: 1731
Born: November 26
Died: 1800
Died: April 25
Hymnwriter
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Translator
Writer
Berkhamsted
Hertfordshire
Wells
Bark
Well
Flew
Done
Windows
Children
Dogs
Every
Loud
Dog
Window
Bawl
Soul
Screamed
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I have a kitten,the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin.
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Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
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Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world to see the stir Of the Great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
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The few that pray at all pray oft amiss.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
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That good diffused may more abundant grow.
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For when was public virtue to be found Where private was not?
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But poverty, with most who whimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe The effect of laziness, or sottish write.
William Cowper
Come, evening, once again, season of peace Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.
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Great offices will have great talents, and God gives to every man the virtue, temper, understanding, taste, that lifts him into life, and lets him fall just in the niche he was ordained to fill.
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They fix attention, heedless of your pain, With oaths like rivets forced into the brain And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart he does not feel for man.
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What we admire we praise and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
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My soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
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I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
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Nature is a good name for an effect whose cause is God.
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God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.
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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
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I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face, OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
William Cowper