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Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world to see the stir Of the Great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
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
Retreat
Crowd
Crowds
Pleasant
Feel
Peep
Feels
Babel
Great
Loopholes
World
Stir
More quotes by William Cowper
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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Fanaticism, the false fire of an overheated mind.
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Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn, That he who made it, and reveal'd its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
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The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away.
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Slaves cannot breathe in England if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
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Some to the fascination of a name, Surrender judgment hoodwinked.
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All zeal for a reform, that gives offence To peace and charity, is mere pretence.
William Cowper
Lights of the world, and stars of human race.
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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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They best can judge a poet's worth, Who oft themselves have known The pangs of a poetic birth By labours of their own.
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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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Toil for the brave! The brave that are no more.
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Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?
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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!
William Cowper
I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
William Cowper
She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.
William Cowper
Necessity invented stools, Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, And luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last.
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My soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
William Cowper
Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
William Cowper
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
William Cowper