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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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William Cowper
Age: 68 †
Born: 1731
Born: November 26
Died: 1800
Died: April 25
Hymnwriter
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Translator
Writer
Berkhamsted
Hertfordshire
Woman
Altars
Soul
Scorn
Men
Serves
Implacable
Disgusting
Affectation
Ministers
Clergymen
Object
Disgust
Objects
Altar
Perfect
Loathe

More quotes by William Cowper

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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
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Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. The nations hunt all mock thee for a prey They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay.
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Fanaticism, the false fire of an overheated mind.
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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.
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England with all thy faults, I love thee still-- My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrained to love thee.
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He that runs may read.
William Cowper
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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow.
William Cowper
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
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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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A life of ease is a difficult pursuit.
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But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
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The rich are too indolent, the poor too weak, to bear the insupportable fatigue of thinking.
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We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
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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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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.
William Cowper
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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 sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
William Cowper
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Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind.
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Meditation here may think down hours to moments. Here the heart may give a useful lesson to the head and learning wiser grow without his books.
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What is there in the vale of lifeHalf so delightful as a wifeWhen friendship, love and peace combineTo stamp the marriage-bond divine?
William Cowper