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Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.

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
Kiss
Kissing
Horse
Lived
Loved
Mounted
Courses
Saddle
Course
Saddles
Always
Chase

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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. The nations hunt all mock thee for a prey They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay.
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A moral, sensible, and well-bred manWill not affront me, and no other can.
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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
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I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause.
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Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there.
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Restraining prayer, we cease to fight Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.
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Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys, Unfriendly to society's chief joys: Thy worst effect is banishing for hours The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
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No wild enthusiast could rest, till half the world like him was possessed.
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A fool must now and then be right, by chance
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To trace in Nature's most minute design The signature and stamp of power divine. ... The Invisible in things scarce seen revealed, To whom an atom is an ample field.
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If a great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little man that despises them is no contemptible one.
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What is there in the vale of lifeHalf so delightful as a wifeWhen friendship, love and peace combineTo stamp the marriage-bond divine?
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But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
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And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within?
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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
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