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Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.

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
Contests
Involves
Follows
Dust
Learned
Combatants
Truth
Claiming
Great
Contention
Much
Contest

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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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Did Charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love.
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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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Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.
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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.
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Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
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As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, And hides the ruin that it feeds upon, So sophistry, cleaves close to, and protects Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects.
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The proud are ever most provoked by pride.
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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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Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: To carry nature lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
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Ceremony leads her bigots forth, prepared to fight for shadows of no worth. While truths, on which eternal things depend, can hardly find a single friend.
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The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away.
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I am out of humanity's reach.
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The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all And every soul bawled out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.
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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.
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God forbid that Judges upon their oath should make resolutions to enlarge jurisdiction.
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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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How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at interval upon the ear In cadence sweet now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept.
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Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there.
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Nature is a good name for an effect whose cause is God.
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