Quote

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.

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
Find
Flesh
Grandeur
Must
Wings
Fades
Men
Worship
Riches
Like
Flower
Graves
Glory
Celebrate
Wind
Grass
Ignoble
Death
Fairs
Tomb
Dream
Fair
Tombs

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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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An idler is a watch that wants both hands As useless if it goes as when it stands.
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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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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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And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast) / The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
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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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I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face, OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
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Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, / Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost.
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Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilirate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature.
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But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease.
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Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade.
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Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: To carry nature lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
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A moral, sensible, and well-bred manWill not affront me, and no other can.
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Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
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Knowledge is proud that it knows so much wisdom is humble that it knows no more.
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The parable of the prodigal son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented our Saviour's speech to His disciples, with which He closed His earthly ministrations, full of the sublimest dignity and tenderest affection, surpass everything that I ever read and like the spirit by which they were dictated, fly directly to the heart.
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The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.
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A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct The language plain, and incidents well link'd Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows and, new or old, still hasten to a close.
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