Quote

Call'd to the temple of impure delight He that abstains, and he alone, does right. If a wish wander that way, call it home He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam.

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
Way
Alone
Temperance
Call
Temple
Wish
Temples
Cannot
Wishes
Doe
Wander
Home
Delight
Abstains
Right
Whose
Impure
Long
Safe
Roam

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Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.
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A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic like the sun, It gives a light to every age, It gives, but borrows none.
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Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
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'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume And we are weeds without it.
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...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
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Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
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He that has seen both sides of fifty has lived to little purpose if he has no other views of the world than he had when he was much younger.
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Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head
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Religion, richest favor of the skies.
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When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings.
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Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
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Some people are more nice than wise.
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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They love the country, and none else, who seek For their own sake its silence and its shade. Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Susceptible of pity, or a mind Cultured and capable of sober thought.
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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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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
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Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, The positive pronounce without dismay.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.
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