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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
Sons
Mercy
Son
Therefore
Teach
Love

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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.
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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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No, Freedom has a thousand charms to show That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
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Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
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E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream thy flowing wounds supply, redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
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Slaves cannot breathe in England if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
William Cowper
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O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
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When nations are to perish in their sins, 'tis in the Church the leprosy begins.
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No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.
William Cowper
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Ten thousand casks, Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then 'tis your country bids!
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Great offices will have great talents, and God gives to every man the virtue, temper, understanding, taste, that lifts him into life, and lets him fall just in the niche he was ordained to fill.
William Cowper
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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
William Cowper
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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
William Cowper
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In indolent vacuity of thought.
William Cowper
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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
William Cowper
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The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
William Cowper
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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.
William Cowper
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She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.
William Cowper
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But conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.
William Cowper