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As if the world and they were hand and glove.

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
Gloves
Hypocrisy
Hand
Hands
World
Glove

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A man renowned for repartee will seldom scruple to make free with friendship's finest feeling, will thrust a dagger at your breast, and say he wounded you in jest, by way of balm for healing.
William Cowper
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I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause.
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Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
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I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face, OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
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His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock, it never is at home.
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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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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
William Cowper
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'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume And we are weeds without it.
William Cowper
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Then liberty, like day, Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Heaven Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.
William Cowper
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Come, evening, once again, season of peace Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.
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To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
William Cowper
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Ten thousand casks, Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then 'tis your country bids!
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No, Freedom has a thousand charms to show That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
William Cowper
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Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilirate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature.
William Cowper
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And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
William Cowper
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The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.
William Cowper
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Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose.
William Cowper
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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.
William Cowper
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Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
William Cowper
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Still ending, and beginning still.
William Cowper