William Cowper Quotes
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No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.
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It is a terrible thought, that nothing is ever forgotten; that not an oath is ever uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all times, in the wide spreading current of sound; that not a prayer is lisped, that its record is not to be found st
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse, Not more distinct from harmony divine The constant creaking of a country sign.
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Sin let loose speaks punishment at hand.
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Events of all sorts creep or fly exactly as God pleases.
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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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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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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
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Alas! if my best Friend, who laid down His life for me, were to remember all the instances in which I have neglected Him, and to plead them against me in judgment, where should I hide my guilty head in the day of recompense? I will pray, therefore, for blessings on my friends, even though they cease to be so, and upon my enemies, though they continue such.
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Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
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All truth is precious, if not all divine; and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
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Toil for the brave! The brave that are no more.
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In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
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Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
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Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, attain not to the dignity of thought.
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The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow, and when we lie down at night we may safely say to most of our troubles, "Ye have done your worst, and we shall see you no more."
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Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer; Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there.
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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
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The solemn fop; significant and budge; A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge
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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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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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They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.
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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.