Quote

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.

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
Soul
Sounds
Martial
Music
Souls
Melting
Heart
Ears
Chords
Mind
Touch
Pitch
Brisk
Air
Pleased
Replies
Hear
Grave
Airs
Within
Sympathy
Unison
Sound
Graves
Chord

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Dejection of spirits, which may have prevented many a man from becoming an author, made me one. I find constant employment necessary, and therefore take care to be constantly employed. . . . When I can find no other occupation, I think and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme.
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With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
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The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented our Saviour's speech to His disciples, with which He closed His earthly ministrations, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, surpass everything that I ever read and like the spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart.
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But conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.
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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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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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Blest be the art that can immortalize.
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Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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Habits are soon assumed but when we strive to strip them off, 'tis being flayed alive.
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Religion, richest favor of the skies.
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Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, Delightful industry enjoy'd at home, An Nature, in her cultivated trim Dress'ed to his taste, inviting him abroad - Can he want occupation who has these?
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Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
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A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
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This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to - the last retreat.
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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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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 kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear And something, every day they live, To pity, and perhaps forgive.
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Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind.
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