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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.

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
Wise
Games
War
Play
Would
Antiwar
Kings
Subjects
Game

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The fall of waters and the song of birds, And hills that echo to the distant berds, Are luxuries excelling all the glare The world can boast, and her chief favorites share.
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Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.
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For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it comes to light, In every cranny but the right.
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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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Call'd to the temple of impure delight He that abstains, and he alone, does right. If a wish wander that way, call it home He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam.
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Did Charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love.
William Cowper
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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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Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but virtue consoles us even in our pains.
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With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
William Cowper
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As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, And hides the ruin that it feeds upon, So sophistry, cleaves close to, and protects Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects.
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Forced from home, and all its pleasures, afric coast I left forlorn to increase a stranger's treasures, o the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, paid my price in paltry gold but, though theirs they have enroll'd me, minds are never to be sold.
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No wild enthusiast could rest, till half the world like him was possessed.
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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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He that negotiates between God and man, As God's ambassador, the grand concerns Of judgment and of mercy, should beware Of lightness in his speech.
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Ten thousand casks, Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then 'tis your country bids!
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E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream thy flowing wounds supply, redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
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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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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.
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Some people are more nice than wise.
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Sin let loose speaks punishment at hand.
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