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Man on the dubious waves of error toss'd.

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
Dubious
Toss
Waves
Error
Errors
Wave
Men

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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.
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No, Freedom has a thousand charms to show That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
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I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
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All truth is precious, if not all divine and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
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With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
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The still small voice is wanted.
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And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
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We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
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Made poetry a mere mechanic art.
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Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
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A Christian's wit is offensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth.
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For when was public virtue to be found Where private was not?
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... she, that will with kittens jest, Should bear a kitten's joke.
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A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
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Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the seaside sands, The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth Happy who walks with him!
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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
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He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves besides.
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What we admire we praise and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
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When from soft love proceeds the deep distress, ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?
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He that attends to his interior self, That has a heart, and keeps it has a mind That hungers, and supplies it and who seeks A social, not a dissipated life, Has business.
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