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Sin let loose speaks punishment at hand.

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
Hand
Speak
Hands
Loose
Speaks
Punishment
Sin

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If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.
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Lights of the world, and stars of human race.
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Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
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A life of ease is a difficult pursuit.
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How readily we wish time spent revoked, that we might try the ground again where once--through inexperience, as we now perceive--we missed that happiness we might have found!
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Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
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Existence is a strange bargain. Life owes us little we owe it everything. The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose.
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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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A life all turbulence and noise may seem To him that leads it wise and to be praised, But wisdom is a pearl with most success Sought in still waters.
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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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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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
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Fanaticism, the false fire of an overheated mind.
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Nature, exerting an unwearied power, Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads.
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Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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No traveler e'er reached that blest abode who found not thorns and briers in his road.
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Tea - the cups that cheer but not inebriate.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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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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