Quote

When I thinkof my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.

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
Moment
Recollection
Moments
Alas
Hands
Native
Seems
Despair
Back
Soon
Seem
Land
Hand
Hurries

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But poverty, with most who whimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe The effect of laziness, or sottish write.
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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.
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The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away.
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The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.
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Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, attain not to the dignity of thought.
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Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
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Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.
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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
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Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.
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Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home.
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God made bees, and bees made honey, God made man, and man made money, Pride made the devil, and the devil made sin So God made a cole-pit to put the devil in.
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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there.
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Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in
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Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
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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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Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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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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