I am out of humanity’s reach.I must finish my journey alone,Never hear the sweet music of speech;I start at the sound of my own.
WILLIAM COWPERTrials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer; Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there.
More William Cowper Quotes
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
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Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.
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God made the country, and man made the town.
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Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his bright designs,
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Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
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Accomplishments have taken virtue’s place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.
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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flow’r. 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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Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.
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I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, for how could we do without sugar and rum?
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Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
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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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What is there in the vale of lifeHalf so delightful as a wife;When friendship, love and peace combineTo stamp the marriage-bond divine?
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And 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.
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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another’s pain.
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An idler is a watch that wants both hands; As useless if it goes as when it stands.
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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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War’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
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Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
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Pride made the devil, and the devil made sin; So God made a cole-pit to put the devil in.
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But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease.
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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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…So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
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England with all thy faults, I love thee still– My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrained to love thee.
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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
WILLIAM COWPER