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Made poetry a mere mechanic art.

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
Mechanic
Mere
Poetry
Art
Made

More quotes by William Cowper

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All truth is precious, if not all divine and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
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To see the Law by Christ fulfilled, And hear His pardoning voice Changes a slave into a child, And duty into choice.
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The rich are too indolent, the poor too weak, to bear the insupportable fatigue of thinking.
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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England, with all thy faults I love thee still, My country!
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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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Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
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Pity! Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground! The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to stray And every muse attend her in her way.
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Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize.
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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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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
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We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.
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Absence of occupation is not rest.
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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
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When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings.
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Sacred interpreter of human thought, How few respect or use thee as they ought! But all shall give account of every wrong, Who dare dishonor or defile the tongue Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, Or sell their glory at a market-price!
William Cowper
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All flesh is grass. and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream The man we celebrate must find a tomb, And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
William Cowper
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Knowledge is proud that it knows so much wisdom is humble that it knows no more.
William Cowper