Quote

O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

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
Home
Thee
Rulers
Undisturbed
Long
King
Roof
Inverted
Years
Kings
Retirement
Lowly
Comfort
Enjoyment
Comforts
Year
Intimate
Ruler
Hours
Evening
Delights
Fireside
Happiness
Winter
Crown
Uninterrupted
Born
Delight
Crowns
Enjoyments

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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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Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame,--all these belong to virtue, and all prove that virtue has a title to your love.
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.
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In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
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Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.
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Absence of occupation is not rest.
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Slaves cannot breathe in England if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
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How shall I speak thee, or thy power address Thou God of our idolatry, the Press. . . . . Like Eden's dead probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from thee.
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But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease.
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The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again, pronounce a text, Cry hem and reading what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene!
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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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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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Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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Learning itself, received into a mind By nature weak, or viciously inclined, Serves but to lead philosophers astray, Where children would with ease discern the way.
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Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, attain not to the dignity of thought.
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Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
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No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.
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