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How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light.
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
Behinds
Tempest
Behind
Swift
Light
Glance
Mind
Arrows
Glances
Lags
Compared
Lag
Flight
Fleet
Speed
Winged
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It is a general rule of Judgment, that a mischief should rather be admitted than an inconvenience.
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Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours.
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To see the Law by Christ fulfilled, And hear His pardoning voice Changes a slave into a child, And duty into choice.
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Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade.
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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.
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For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it comes to light, In every cranny but the right.
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Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, attain not to the dignity of thought.
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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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He that runs may read.
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And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast) / The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
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Slaves cannot breathe in England if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
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Man on the dubious waves of error toss'd.
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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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Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
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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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Thieves at home must hang but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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