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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.

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
Chill
Rude
Theme
Rudely
Supreme
Chills
Blood
Blest
Hear
Appealed
Profanity
Trifling

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[My kitten's] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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Thieves at home must hang but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
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I will venture to assert, that a just translation of any ancient poet in rhyme is impossible. No human ingenuity can be equal to the task of closing every couplet with sounds homotonous, expressing at the same time the full sense, and only the full sense of his original.
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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow, and when we lie down at night we may safely say to most of our troubles, Ye have done your worst, and we shall see you no more.
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No wild enthusiast could rest, till half the world like him was possessed.
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Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
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The man that hails you Tom or Jack, and proves by thumps upon your back how he esteems your merit, is such a friend, that one had need be very much his friend indeed to pardon or to bear it.
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Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.
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That good diffused may more abundant grow.
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And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
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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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Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head
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Unmissed but by his dogs and by his groom.
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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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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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When from soft love proceeds the deep distress, ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?
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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
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Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.
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Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours.
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