Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his bright designs,
WILLIAM COWPERThe path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
More William Cowper Quotes
-
-
Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
WILLIAM COWPER -
While truths, on which eternal things depend, can hardly find a single friend.
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 -
Blest be the art that can immortalize,–the art that baffles time’s tyrannic claim to quench it.
WILLIAM COWPER -
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.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection.
WILLIAM COWPER -
If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.
WILLIAM COWPER -
To impute our recovery to medicine, and to carry our view no further, is to rob God of His honor, and is saying in effect that He has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of His own reach.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
WILLIAM COWPER -
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?
WILLIAM COWPER -
Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.
WILLIAM COWPER -
Time, as he passes us, has a dove’s wing, Unsoil’d, and swift, and of a silken sound.
WILLIAM COWPER