William Cowper Quotes
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Religion, richest favor of the skies.
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Great offices will have great talents.
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What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
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O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
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The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.
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Go, mark the matchless working of the power That shuts within the seed the future flower; Bids these in elegance of form excel. In color these, and those delight the smell; Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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All truth is precious, if not all divine; and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
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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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How happy it is to believe, with a steadfast assurance, that our petitions are heard even while we are making them; and how delightful to meet with a proof of it in the effectual and actual grant of them.
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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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And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within?
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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!
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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; he does not feel for man.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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We bear our shades about us; self-deprived Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, And range an Indian waste without a tree.
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Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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How various his employments whom the world Calls idle; and who justly in return Esteems that busy world an idler too!
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The man that dares traduce, because he can with safety to himself, is not a man.
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Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
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The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all; And every soul bawled out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.
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Come, evening, once again, season of peace; Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.
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Grief is itself a medicine.
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All affectation; 'tis my perfect scorn; Object of my implacable disgust.
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Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.
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Man disavows, and Deity disowns me: hell might afford my miseries a shelter; therefore hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all bolted against me.
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Remorse begets reform.
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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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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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How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave.
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