Quote

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.

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
Mind
Wisdom
Sport
Make
Reading
Smile
Abler
Turns
Writers
Lustre
Truth
Whose
Needful
Give
Style
Relaxing
Wells
Turn
Managed
Well
Sort
Wit
Giving
Sports
Classic

More quotes by William Cowper

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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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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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Misses! the tale that I relate This lesson seems to carry-- Choose not alone a proper mate, But proper time to marry.
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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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The still small voice is wanted.
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There is mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought gives even affliction a grace and reconciles man to his lot.
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But conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.
William Cowper
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Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse, Not more distinct from harmony divine The constant creaking of a country sign.
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How shall I speak thee, or thy power address Thou God of our idolatry, the Press. . . . . Like Eden's dead probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from thee.
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Absence of occupation is not rest A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind.
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E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream thy flowing wounds supply, redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
William Cowper
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My soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
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O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!
William Cowper
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They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.
William Cowper
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I am out of humanity's reach.
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Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.
William Cowper
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We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.
William Cowper
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Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
William Cowper