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We sacrifice to dress till household joys and comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, and keeps our larder lean.
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
Cease
Comforts
Dresses
Drains
Keeps
Lean
Sacrifice
Joys
Comfort
Dry
Joy
Household
Dress
Cellar
Till
Cellars
More quotes by William Cowper
But many a crime deemed innocent on earth Is registered in Heaven and these no doubt Have each their record, with a curse annex'd.
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The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.
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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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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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That good diffused may more abundant grow.
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He that attends to his interior self, That has a heart, and keeps it has a mind That hungers, and supplies it and who seeks A social, not a dissipated life, Has business.
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What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
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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!
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Defend me, therefore, common sense, say From reveries so airy, from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up.
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The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.
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Our love is principle, and has its root In reason, is judicious, manly, free.
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Tea - the cups that cheer but not inebriate.
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Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.
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My soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
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All constraint, / Except what wisdom lays on evil men, / Is evil.
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A Christian's wit is offensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth.
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Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose.
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Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.
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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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A noisy man is always in the right.
William Cowper