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But oars alone can ne’er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.

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Alone Heaven Lost Oar Prevail Toil

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Blest be the art that can immortalize,–the art that baffles time’s tyrannic claim to quench it.
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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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This fond attachment to the well-known place Whence first we started into life’s long race.
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War’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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After long drought when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all.
WILLIAM COWPER

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They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.
WILLIAM COWPER

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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

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…So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
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God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs
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Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
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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

Air Brisk Ear Heart Martial Melt Mind Music Pease Pitch Soul Sound Sympathy
Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
WILLIAM COWPER

Bosom Eggs Fatal Laid Made Nest Pleasure Remorse Scorpions
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.
WILLIAM COWPER

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Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies… To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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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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I seem forsaken and alone, / I hear the lion roar; / And every door is shut but one, / And that is Mercy’s door.
WILLIAM COWPER

Alone Door Every Forsaken Hera Lion Loneliness Mercy One Shut

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