War’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
WILLIAM COWPERBlind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
More William Cowper Quotes
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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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The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose.
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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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And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
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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
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Remorse begets reform.
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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
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The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
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We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.
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Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e’en in age, and at our latest day.
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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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The still small voice is wanted.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness. Where rumors of oppression and deceit, of unsuccessful and successful wars may never reach me anymore.
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Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
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He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not color’d like his own, and having pow’r T’ enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
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If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.
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Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
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The proud are ever most provoked by pride.
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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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Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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Would I describe a preacher, I would express him simple, grave, sincere; In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste,
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Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection.
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A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion; a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.
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Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.
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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