Quote

Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.

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
Plain
Vain
Blind
Sure
Work
Make
Scan
Interpreter
Unbelief

More quotes by William Cowper

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Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose.
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They fix attention, heedless of your pain, With oaths like rivets forced into the brain And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
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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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To trace in Nature's most minute design The signature and stamp of power divine. ... The Invisible in things scarce seen revealed, To whom an atom is an ample field.
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Restraining prayer, we cease to fight Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.
William Cowper
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Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
William Cowper
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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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No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.
William Cowper
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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.
William Cowper
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Transforms old print To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
William Cowper
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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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The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again, pronounce a text, Cry hem and reading what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene!
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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart he does not feel for man.
William Cowper
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Still ending, and beginning still.
William Cowper
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Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the seaside sands, The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth Happy who walks with him!
William Cowper
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
William Cowper
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How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light.
William Cowper
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And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
William Cowper
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Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, the mere materials with which wisdom builds, till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
William Cowper