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The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear And something, every day they live, To pity, and perhaps forgive.

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
Something
Occasions
Forgive
Forgiving
Forbear
Pity
Kindest
Perhaps
Happiest
Find
Pair
Live
Occasion
Every
Pairs

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Blest be the art that can immortalize.
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The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented our Saviour's speech to His disciples, with which He closed His earthly ministrations, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, surpass everything that I ever read and like the spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart.
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The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
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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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Greece, sound, thy Homer's, Rome thy Virgil's name, But England's Milton equals both in fame.
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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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Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, / Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost.
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Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.
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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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To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
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Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
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The proud are ever most provoked by pride.
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True modesty is a discerning grace And only blushes in the proper place But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, Where 'tis a shame to be asham'd t' appear: Humility the parent of the first, The last by vanity produc'd and nurs'd.
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My soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
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Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days The scene is touching, and the heart is stone, That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
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Hast thou not learnd what thou art often told, A truth still sacred, and believed of old, That no success attends on spears and swords Unblest, and that the battle is the Lords?
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All constraint, / Except what wisdom lays on evil men, / Is evil.
William Cowper
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The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.
William Cowper
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Sin let loose speaks punishment at hand.
William Cowper
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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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