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Did Charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love.

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
Virtue
Truth
Prevail
Would
Vehicle
Love
Journalism
Presses
Press
Charity
Prove

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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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A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
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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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For when was public virtue to be found Where private was not?
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True modesty is a discerning grace And only blushes in the proper place But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, Where 'tis a shame to be asham'd t' appear: Humility the parent of the first, The last by vanity produc'd and nurs'd.
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All truth is precious, if not all divine and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
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Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.
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And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within?
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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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I am out of humanity's reach.I must finish my journey alone,Never hear the sweet music of speechI start at the sound of my own.
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O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
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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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Folly ends where genuine hope begins.
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Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
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This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to - the last retreat.
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Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at the cheaper rate.
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I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
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Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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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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