The Cross! There, and there only (though the deist rave, and the atheist, if Earth bears so base a slave); There and there only, is the power to save.
WILLIAM COWPERAbsence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
More William Cowper Quotes
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To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
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Truth is the golden girdle of the globe.
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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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The man to solitude accustom’d long, Perceives in everything that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees Have speech for him, and understood with ease,
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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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Heaven’s harmony is universal love.
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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.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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God made bees, and bees made honey, God made man, and man made money,
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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.
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When nations are to perish in their sins, ’tis in the Church the leprosy begins.
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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.
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God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs
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And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be follow’d perhaps by a smile.
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Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
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All we behold is miracle.
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Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his bright designs,
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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another’s pain.
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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
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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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The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose.
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Some people are more nice than wise.
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War’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
WILLIAM COWPER