Quote

A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.

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
Joy
Sharp
Ceaseless
May
Fierce
Knot
Closest
Explosion
Immense
Knots
Temper
Explosions
Tied
Divide
Corrosion
Suddenly
Joys
Fretful
Passionate
Divides
Disperse

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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.
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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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A moral, sensible, and well-bred manWill not affront me, and no other can.
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Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.
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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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In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
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Though peace be made, yet it's interest that keep peace.
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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
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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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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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To see the Law by Christ fulfilled, And hear His pardoning voice Changes a slave into a child, And duty into choice.
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How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light.
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Religion does not censure or exclude Unnumbered pleasures, harmlessly pursued.
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The still small voice is wanted.
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Thieves at home must hang but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
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No wild enthusiast could rest, till half the world like him was possessed.
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Ceremony leads her bigots forth, prepared to fight for shadows of no worth. While truths, on which eternal things depend, can hardly find a single friend.
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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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