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Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilirate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature.

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Exhilarate Languid Music Nature Rural Sight Silence Tone

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Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour;
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Feeble Grace Judging Lord People Person Sweet
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame; He hides behind a magisterial air He own offences, and strips others’ bare.
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Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but virtue consoles us even in our pains.
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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another’s pain.
WILLIAM COWPER

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Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection.
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Being Connection Knowledge Men Mind Often Time Wisdom
God made bees, and bees made honey, God made man, and man made money,
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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.
WILLIAM COWPER

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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
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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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The rich are too indolent, the poor too weak, to bear the insupportable fatigue of thinking.
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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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No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.
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Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
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