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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.

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
Sound
Soul
Music
Unison
Sympathy
Sounds
Souls

More quotes by William Cowper

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How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at interval upon the ear In cadence sweet now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept.
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Absence of occupation is not rest A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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The rich are too indolent, the poor too weak, to bear the insupportable fatigue of thinking.
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The man that hails you Tom or Jack, and proves by thumps upon your back how he esteems your merit, is such a friend, that one had need be very much his friend indeed to pardon or to bear it.
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A life all turbulence and noise may seem To him that leads it wise and to be praised, But wisdom is a pearl with most success Sought in still waters.
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Nature is a good name for an effect whose cause is God.
William Cowper
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When nations are to perish in their sins, 'tis in the Church the leprosy begins.
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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
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A fool must now and then be right, by chance
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No one was ever scolded out of their sins.
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Though peace be made, yet it's interest that keep peace.
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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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Absence of proof is not proof of absence.
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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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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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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
William Cowper
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But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease.
William Cowper
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I seem forsaken and alone, / I hear the lion roar / And every door is shut but one, / And that is Mercy's door.
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