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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow.

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
Seldom
Tomorrow
Care
Today
Cares

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Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.
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...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
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He that attends to his interior self, That has a heart, and keeps it has a mind That hungers, and supplies it and who seeks A social, not a dissipated life, Has business.
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Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies... To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days The scene is touching, and the heart is stone, That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
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Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,- A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.
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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.
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Man in society is like a flow'r, Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone His faculties expanded in full bloom Shine out, there only reach their proper use.
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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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In man or woman, but far most in man, And most of all in man that ministers, And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn: Object of my implacable disgust.
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She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.
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Spare feast! a radish and an egg.
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Come, evening, once again, season of peace Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.
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The slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
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God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.
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Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired.
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God never meant that man should scale the Heavens By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wondrous, he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines.
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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
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Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
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