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

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'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume And we are weeds without it.
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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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Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.
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Misery still delights to trace Its semblance in another's case.
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The solemn fop significant and budge A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge
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O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
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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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Lights of the world, and stars of human race.
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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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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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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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Not to understand a treasure's worth till time has stole away the slighted good, is cause of half the poverty we feel, and makes the world the wilderness it is.
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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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A moral, sensible, and well-bred manWill not affront me, and no other can.
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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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But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.
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This fond attachment to the well-known place Whence first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day.
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Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.
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