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I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, for how could we do without sugar and rum?
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
Must
Rum
Mum
Greatly
Sugar
Pity
Slavery
Without
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Folly ends where genuine hope begins.
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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
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Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired.
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They best can judge a poet's worth, Who oft themselves have known The pangs of a poetic birth By labours of their own.
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The still small voice is wanted.
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I seem forsaken and alone, / I hear the lion roar / And every door is shut but one, / And that is Mercy's door.
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This fond attachment to the well-known place Whence first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day.
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Misses! the tale that I relate This lesson seems to carry-- Choose not alone a proper mate, But proper time to marry.
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They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.
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Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
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There is mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought gives even affliction a grace and reconciles man to his lot.
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Habits are soon assumed but when we strive to strip them off, 'tis being flayed alive.
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To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
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Heaven's harmony is universal love.
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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow, and when we lie down at night we may safely say to most of our troubles, Ye have done your worst, and we shall see you no more.
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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 spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown, And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, And mar the face of beauty, when no cause For such immeasurable woe appears These Flora banishes, and gives the fair Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own.
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If hindrances obstruct the way, Thy magnanimity display. And let thy strength be seen: But O, if Fortune fill thy sail With more than a propitious gale, Take half thy canvas in.
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Lord, it is my chief complaint, That my love is weak and faint Yet I love thee and adore, Oh for grace to love thee more!
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