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

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Existence is a strange bargain. Life owes us little we owe it everything. The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose.
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And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within?
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Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world to see the stir Of the Great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
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That good diffused may more abundant grow.
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A noisy man is always in the right.
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The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all And every soul bawled out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.
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Man on the dubious waves of error toss'd.
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
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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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No traveler e'er reached that blest abode who found not thorns and briers in his road.
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The beggarly last doit.
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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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Blest be the art that can immortalize.
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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
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Absence of occupation is not rest A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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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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But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought Of freedom, in that hope itself possess All that the contest calls for spirit, strength, The scorn of danger, and united hearts, The surest presage of the good they seek.
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Some write a narrative of wars and feats, Of heroes little known, and call the rant A history.
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An epigram is but a feeble thing - With straw in tail, stuck there by way of sting.
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I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
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