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No one was ever scolded out of their sins.

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
Scolded
Sins
Sin
Ever

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Misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case.
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That good diffused may more abundant grow.
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I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, for how could we do without sugar and rum?
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Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose.
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Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away.
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O, popular applause! what heart of man is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?
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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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Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head
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Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him for His grace Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hourThe bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flow’r. Blind unbelief is sure to err And scan His work in vain God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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In the vast, and the minute, we see The unambiguous footsteps of the God, Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.
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I am out of humanity's reach.
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Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?
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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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Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.
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Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
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When from soft love proceeds the deep distress, ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?
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God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs
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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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Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but virtue consoles us even in our pains.
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