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Admirals extolled for standing still, or doing nothing with a deal of skill.

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
Standing
Deal
Deals
War
Stills
Admirals
Still
Admiral
Nothing
Skill
Skills

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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
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Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days The scene is touching, and the heart is stone, That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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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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Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse, Not more distinct from harmony divine The constant creaking of a country sign.
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A Christian's wit is offensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth.
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Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
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How happy it is to believe, with a steadfast assurance, that our petitions are heard even while we are making them and how delightful to meet with a proof of it in the effectual and actual grant of them.
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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!
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I am out of humanity's reach.I must finish my journey alone,Never hear the sweet music of speechI start at the sound of my own.
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the seaside sands, The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth Happy who walks with him!
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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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How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at interval upon the ear In cadence sweet now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept.
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Laugh at all you trembled at before.
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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.
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Lights of the world, and stars of human race.
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