Quote

Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade.

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
Money
Stamps
Made
Trade
Way
Turn
Name
Names
Lying
Turns
Penny
Upon
Pennies

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The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.
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His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock, it never is at home.
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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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When nations are to perish in their sins, 'tis in the Church the leprosy begins.
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How much a dunce that has been sent to roam, excels a dunce that has been kept at home.
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Go, mark the matchless working of the power That shuts within the seed the future flower Bids these in elegance of form excel. In color these, and those delight the smell Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, / Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost.
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O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
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Come, evening, once again, season of peace Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.
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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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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart he does not feel for man.
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Habits are soon assumed but when we strive to strip them off, 'tis being flayed alive.
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear And something, every day they live, To pity, and perhaps forgive.
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God made the country, and man made the town.
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We bear our shades about us self-deprived Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, And range an Indian waste without a tree.
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To trace in Nature's most minute design The signature and stamp of power divine. ... The Invisible in things scarce seen revealed, To whom an atom is an ample field.
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Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.
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The mind, relaxing into needful sport, Should turn to writers of an abler sort, Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style, Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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