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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?

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
Concerns
Maps
Vast
Busy
Concern
Life
Fluctuations
Fluctuation

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Restraining prayer, we cease to fight Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.
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A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct The language plain, and incidents well link'd Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows and, new or old, still hasten to a close.
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Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
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Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.
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Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
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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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And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast) / The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
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The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.
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A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
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When scandal has new-minted an old lie, Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears Gathering around it with erected ears A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd, Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud, Just as the sapience of an author's brain, Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain.
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.
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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.
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
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Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.
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O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!
William Cowper
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But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
William Cowper