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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

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
Take
Clouds
Much
Mercy
Blessing
Saints
Courage
Dread
Shall
Fearful
Head
Blessings
Break
Fresh
Bigs
Saint

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The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
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Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.
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There is mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought gives even affliction a grace and reconciles man to his lot.
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It is a terrible thought, that nothing is ever forgotten that not an oath is ever uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all times, in the wide spreading current of sound that not a prayer is lisped, that its record is not to be found st
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
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Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at the cheaper rate.
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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
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The slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
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But truths on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a lustre he that runs may read.
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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 Christian's wit is offensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth.
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Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
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When I thinkof my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
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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.
William Cowper
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[My kitten's] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
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Knowledge is proud that it knows so much wisdom is humble that it knows no more.
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Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days The scene is touching, and the heart is stone, That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
William Cowper
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Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.
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