The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
WILLIAM COWPERAnd natural in gesture; much impress’d Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too; affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men.
More William Cowper Quotes
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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.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection.
WILLIAM COWPER -
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.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Time, as he passes us, has a dove’s wing, Unsoil’d, and swift, and of a silken sound.
WILLIAM COWPER -
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
WILLIAM COWPER -
I will pray, therefore, for blessings on my friends, even though they cease to be so, and upon my enemies, though they continue such.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.
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God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.
WILLIAM COWPER -
To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
WILLIAM COWPER -
We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
WILLIAM COWPER -
A life of ease is a difficult pursuit.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness. Where rumors of oppression and deceit, of unsuccessful and successful wars may never reach me anymore.
WILLIAM COWPER -
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
WILLIAM COWPER