William Cowper Quotes
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Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread; Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
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What we admire we praise; and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
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When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings.
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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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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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Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade.
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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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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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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.
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They fix attention, heedless of your pain, With oaths like rivets forced into the brain; And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
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For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it comes to light, In every cranny but the right.
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And diff'ring judgments serve but to declare that truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
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To trace in Nature's most minute design The signature and stamp of power divine. ... The Invisible in things scarce seen revealed, To whom an atom is an ample field.
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The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.
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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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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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Great offices will have great talents.
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Laugh at all you trembled at before.
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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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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When all within is peace How nature seems to smile Delights that never cease The live-long day beguile
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The man that hails you Tom or Jack, and proves by thumps upon your back how he esteems your merit, is such a friend, that one had need be very much his friend indeed to pardon or to bear it.
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A teacher should be sparing of his smile.