Quote

Lord, it is my chief complaint, That my love is weak and faint Yet I love thee and adore, Oh for grace to love thee 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
Love
Complaints
Adore
Chief
Chiefs
Thee
Weak
Grace
Complaint
Lord
Faint

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Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame He hides behind a magisterial air He own offences, and strips others' bare.
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Religion Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew, None as invincible as they.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
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God never meant that man should scale the Heavens By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wondrous, he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines.
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Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.
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The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.
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Man in society is like a flow'r, Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone His faculties expanded in full bloom Shine out, there only reach their proper use.
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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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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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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: To carry nature lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
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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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Absence of occupation is not rest A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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A teacher should be sparing of his smile.
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Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world to see the stir Of the Great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
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No one was ever scolded out of their sins.
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
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A man renowned for repartee will seldom scruple to make free with friendship's finest feeling, will thrust a dagger at your breast, and say he wounded you in jest, by way of balm for healing.
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