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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
Hands
Loose
Speaks
Punishment
Sin
Hand
Speak

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To impute our recovery to medicine, and to carry our view no further, is to rob God of His honor, and is saying in effect that He has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of His own reach.
William Cowper
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No traveler e'er reached that blest abode who found not thorns and briers in his road.
William Cowper
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
William Cowper
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How various his employments whom the world Calls idle and who justly in return Esteems that busy world an idler too!
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A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair Honesty shines with great advantage there.
William Cowper
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Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose.
William Cowper
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And in that hour, The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd To such gigantic and enormous growth, Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. Hence date the persecution and the pain That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, Regardless of their plaints.
William Cowper
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I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause.
William Cowper
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O, popular applause! what heart of man is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?
William Cowper
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All truth is precious, if not all divine and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
William Cowper
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They best can judge a poet's worth, Who oft themselves have known The pangs of a poetic birth By labours of their own.
William Cowper
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He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves besides.
William Cowper
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I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
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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Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.
William Cowper
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Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world to see the stir Of the Great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
William Cowper
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Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,- A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.
William Cowper
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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
William Cowper
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Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
William Cowper
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Grief is itself a medicine.
William Cowper