Quote

But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.

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
Breath
Oars
Breaths
Oar
Reach
Swell
Alone
Prevail
Heaven
Toil
Lost
Sail
Must
Distant
Coast

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Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.
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God forbid that Judges upon their oath should make resolutions to enlarge jurisdiction.
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Knowledge is proud that it knows so much wisdom is humble that it knows no more.
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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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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.
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Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilirate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature.
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The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.
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Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, The positive pronounce without dismay.
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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
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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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Admirals extolled for standing still, or doing nothing with a deal of skill.
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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart he does not feel for man.
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The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented our Saviour's speech to His disciples, with which He closed His earthly ministrations, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, surpass everything that I ever read and like the spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart.
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Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.
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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.
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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.
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Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
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Did Charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love.
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Meditation here may think down hours to moments. Here the heart may give a useful lesson to the head and learning wiser grow without his books.
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