Quote

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.

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
Always
Sight
Grieves
Never
Youth
Flush
Side
Beam
Sides
Grieving
Age
Offensive
Christian
Wit
Light
Aids
Truth
Active
Rous

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Religion Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew, None as invincible as they.
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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
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But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
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How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave.
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The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.
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Heaven's harmony is universal love.
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Grief is itself a medicine.
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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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Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart he does not feel for man.
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Come, evening, once again, season of peace Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.
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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.
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If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.
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Go, mark the matchless working of the power That shuts within the seed the future flower Bids these in elegance of form excel. In color these, and those delight the smell Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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Absence of occupation is not rest.
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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.
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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
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Our love is principle, and has its root In reason, is judicious, manly, free.
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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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A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
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