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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
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
Leaves
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Degrees
Judgment
Pleasure
Free
Enslaves
Undue
Admitted
More quotes by William Cowper
He that runs may read.
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Knowledge is proud that it knows so much wisdom is humble that it knows no more.
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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
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But what is truth? 'Twas Pilate's question put To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply.
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Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, the mere materials with which wisdom builds, till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
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Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
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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
Nature, exerting an unwearied power, Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads.
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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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Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head
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I am out of humanity's reach.
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In indolent vacuity of thought.
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No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.
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We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
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We bear our shades about us self-deprived Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, And range an Indian waste without a tree.
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Admirals extolled for standing still, or doing nothing with a deal of skill.
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If a great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little man that despises them is no contemptible one.
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
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For when was public virtue to be found Where private was not?
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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. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hourThe bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flow’r. Blind unbelief is sure to err And scan His work in vain God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain.
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