Quote

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.

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
Words
Converse
Learn
Converses
May
Distinct
Country
Sign
Creaking
Always
Harmony
Rote
Constant
Parrot
Divine
Rehearse
Talking
Parrots

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Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees.
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All flesh is grass. and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream The man we celebrate must find a tomb, And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
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Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou was blind before: Thine eye shall be instructed and thine heart Made pure shall relish with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
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I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
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Tea - the cups that cheer but not inebriate.
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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.
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A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
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What we admire we praise and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
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Fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
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Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound.
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Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys, Unfriendly to society's chief joys: Thy worst effect is banishing for hours The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
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A teacher should be sparing of his smile.
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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow, and when we lie down at night we may safely say to most of our troubles, Ye have done your worst, and we shall see you no more.
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What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
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Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.
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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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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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