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She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.

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
Coming
Asks
Five
Friends
Hate
Hates
Dear
Hundred

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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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That good diffused may more abundant grow.
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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
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Great offices will have great talents, and God gives to every man the virtue, temper, understanding, taste, that lifts him into life, and lets him fall just in the niche he was ordained to fill.
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But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.
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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
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There is mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought gives even affliction a grace and reconciles man to his lot.
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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head
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Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,- A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.
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When from soft love proceeds the deep distress, ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?
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Whoever keeps an open ear For tattlers will be sure to hear The trumpet of contention.
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For when was public virtue to be found Where private was not?
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All zeal for a reform, that gives offence To peace and charity, is mere pretence.
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I have a kitten,the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin.
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[My kitten's] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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Nature, exerting an unwearied power, Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads.
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