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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.
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
Faith
Streams
Love
Theme
Wounds
Till
Saws
Redeeming
Shall
Flowing
Since
Stream
Dies
Supply
More quotes by William Cowper
Restraining prayer, we cease to fight Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.
William Cowper
The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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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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Thieves at home must hang but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
William Cowper
How much a dunce that has been sent to roam, excels a dunce that has been kept at home.
William Cowper
Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world to see the stir Of the Great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
William Cowper
Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.
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I am out of humanity's reach.
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Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
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An epigram is but a feeble thing - With straw in tail, stuck there by way of sting.
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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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All truth is precious, if not all divine and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
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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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The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again, pronounce a text, Cry hem and reading what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene!
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And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast) / The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
William Cowper
The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
William Cowper