Quote

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.

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
Today
Seldom
May
Tomorrow
Done
Trouble
Shall
Worst
Lying
Safely
Night
Troubles
Care
Cares

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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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Twere better to be born a stone Of ruder shape, and feeling none, Than with a tenderness like mine And sensibilities so fine! Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell Forever in my native shell, Ordained to move when others please, Not for my own content or ease But toss'd and buffeted about, Now in the water and now out.
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But, oh, Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself thy crown!
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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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Blest be the art that can immortalize.
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The still small voice is wanted.
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The mind, relaxing into needful sport, Should turn to writers of an abler sort, Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style, Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.
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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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I have a kitten,the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin.
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When from soft love proceeds the deep distress, ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?
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There is a mixture of evil in everything we do indulgence encourages us to encroach, while we Crabbe exercise the rights of children, we become childish.
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Misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case.
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Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,- A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
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Man on the dubious waves of error toss'd.
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In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
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Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.
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But poverty, with most who whimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe The effect of laziness, or sottish write.
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Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.
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She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.
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