Quote

How readily we wish time spent revoked, that we might try the ground again where once--through inexperience, as we now perceive--we missed that happiness we might have found!

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
Time
Spent
Ground
Happiness
Wish
Revoked
Found
Inexperience
Past
Readily
Might
Missed
Trying
Perceive

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Religion, richest favor of the skies.
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Laugh at all you trembled at before.
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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream thy flowing wounds supply, redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
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Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours.
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But, oh, Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself thy crown!
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Though peace be made, yet it's interest that keep peace.
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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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All constraint, / Except what wisdom lays on evil men, / Is evil.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.
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Ten thousand casks, Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then 'tis your country bids!
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Oh, popular applause! what heart of man Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms? The wisest and the best feel urgent need Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales But swell'd into a gust--who then, alas! With all his canvas set, and inexpert, And therefore, heedless, can withstand thy power?
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In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
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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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Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou was blind before: Thine eye shall be instructed and thine heart Made pure shall relish with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
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The still small voice is wanted.
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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.
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All affectation 'tis my perfect scorn Object of my implacable disgust.
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Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.
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