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Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.

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
Shows
Headstone
Mercy
Rule

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An idler is a watch that wants both hands As useless if it goes as when it stands.
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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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Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound.
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'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume And we are weeds without it.
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Man disavows, and Deity disowns me: hell might afford my miseries a shelter therefore hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all bolted against me.
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If a great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little man that despises them is no contemptible one.
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in
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A moral, sensible, and well-bred manWill not affront me, and no other can.
William Cowper
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Grief is itself a medicine.
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The man that hails you Tom or Jack, and proves by thumps upon your back how he esteems your merit, is such a friend, that one had need be very much his friend indeed to pardon or to bear it.
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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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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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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
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Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away.
William Cowper
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We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.
William Cowper
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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.
William Cowper
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
William Cowper
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The man to solitude accustom'd long, Perceives in everything that lives a tongue Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees Have speech for him, and understood with ease, After long drought when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all.
William Cowper