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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die

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
Good
Sick
Sepulchre
Prove
Proves
Grow
Sanctuary
Grows
Seeming
Quality
Grave
Dies
Qualities
Lying
Graves
Living
Solitude

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Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.
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Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame,--all these belong to virtue, and all prove that virtue has a title to your love.
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Hast thou not learnd what thou art often told, A truth still sacred, and believed of old, That no success attends on spears and swords Unblest, and that the battle is the Lords?
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They love the country, and none else, who seek For their own sake its silence and its shade. Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Susceptible of pity, or a mind Cultured and capable of sober thought.
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But poverty, with most who whimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe The effect of laziness, or sottish write.
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Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at the cheaper rate.
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Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.
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The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.
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I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
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Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees.
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We sacrifice to dress till household joys and comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, and keeps our larder lean.
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O, popular applause! what heart of man is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?
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No one was ever scolded out of their sins.
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Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
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Great offices will have great talents.
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Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies... To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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When I thinkof my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
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God never meant that man should scale the Heavens By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wondrous, he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines.
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But, oh, Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself thy crown!
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An epigram is but a feeble thing - With straw in tail, stuck there by way of sting.
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