God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.
WILLIAM COWPERSolitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
More William Cowper Quotes
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Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
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What we admire we praise; and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
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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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The still small voice is wanted.
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Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
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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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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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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another’s pain.
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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; Prayer keeps the Christian’s armor bright; And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.
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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.
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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
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The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.
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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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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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War’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
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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.
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All we behold is miracle.
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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.
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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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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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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.
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Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.
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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
WILLIAM COWPER