Quote

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.

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
Fear
Devoted
Swarm
Art
Ill
Beset
Around
Thou
Swarms
Every
Thee
Hunt
England
Deer
Stand
Mock
Nations
Hunts
Poor
Prey

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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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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.
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Misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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Fanaticism, the false fire of an overheated mind.
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Absence of proof is not proof of absence.
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Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.
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A teacher should be sparing of his smile.
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There is a mixture of evil in everything we do indulgence encourages us to encroach, while we Crabbe exercise the rights of children, we become childish.
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Lord, it is my chief complaint, That my love is weak and faint Yet I love thee and adore, Oh for grace to love thee more!
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Even in the stifling bosom of the town, A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms That soothes the rich possessor much consol'd, That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint, Or nightshade, or valerian, grace the well He cultivates.
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The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
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The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.
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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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