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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.

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
Teach
Love
Sons
Mercy
Son
Therefore

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Though peace be made, yet it's interest that keep peace.
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Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.
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Man disavows, and Deity disowns me: hell might afford my miseries a shelter therefore hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all bolted against me.
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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.
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In man or woman, but far most in man, And most of all in man that ministers, And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn: Object of my implacable disgust.
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Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees.
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They fix attention, heedless of your pain, With oaths like rivets forced into the brain And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
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When scandal has new-minted an old lie, Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears Gathering around it with erected ears A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd, Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud, Just as the sapience of an author's brain, Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain.
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To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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Transforms old print To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
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I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
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A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct The language plain, and incidents well link'd Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows and, new or old, still hasten to a close.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.
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The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.
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Necessity invented stools, Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, And luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last.
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What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
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Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours.
William Cowper
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Spare feast! a radish and an egg.
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Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade.
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