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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

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
Bud
Bitter
Flower
Taste
Sweet
May

More quotes by William Cowper

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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow, and when we lie down at night we may safely say to most of our troubles, Ye have done your worst, and we shall see you no more.
William Cowper
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All flesh is grass. and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream The man we celebrate must find a tomb, And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
William Cowper
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
William Cowper
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They fix attention, heedless of your pain, With oaths like rivets forced into the brain And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
William Cowper
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Lord, it is my chief complaint, That my love is weak and faint Yet I love thee and adore, Oh for grace to love thee more!
William Cowper
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With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
William Cowper
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The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
William Cowper
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Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.
William Cowper
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Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.
William Cowper
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In the vast, and the minute, we see The unambiguous footsteps of the God, Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.
William Cowper
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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
William Cowper
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
William Cowper
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He that runs may read.
William Cowper
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Did Charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love.
William Cowper
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Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind.
William Cowper
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But war's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings should not play at. Nations would do well To extort their truncheons from the puny hands Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds Are gratified with mischief, and who spoil, Because men suffer it, their toy the world.
William Cowper
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The fall of waters and the song of birds, And hills that echo to the distant berds, Are luxuries excelling all the glare The world can boast, and her chief favorites share.
William Cowper
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in
William Cowper
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Made poetry a mere mechanic art.
William Cowper
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Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. The nations hunt all mock thee for a prey They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay.
William Cowper