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I seem forsaken and alone, / I hear the lion roar / And every door is shut but one, / And that is Mercy's door.
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
Mercy
Door
Forsaken
Doors
Roar
Seem
Lion
Hear
Lions
Alone
Shut
Seems
Every
Loneliness
More quotes by William Cowper
Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
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Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurl'd, To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the Pole the produce of the sun, And knit the unsocial climates into one.
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Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,- A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.
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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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All we behold is miracle.
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A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.
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Events of all sorts creep or fly exactly as God pleases.
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[My kitten] is dressed in a tortoise-shell suit, and I know you will delight in her.
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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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An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls at evening in the public path. But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will turn aside and let the reptile live.
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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. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hourThe bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flow’r. Blind unbelief is sure to err And scan His work in vain God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain.
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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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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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Pity! Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground! The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to stray And every muse attend her in her way.
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Philologists, who chase A painting syllable through time and space Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's Ark.
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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
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When all within is peace How nature seems to smile Delights that never cease The live-long day beguile
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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart he does not feel for man.
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Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours.
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But many a crime deemed innocent on earth Is registered in Heaven and these no doubt Have each their record, with a curse annex'd.
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