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God Moves In A Mysterious Way His Wonders To Perform; He Plants His Footsteps In The Sea, And Rides Upon The Storm. Deep In Unfathomable Mines Of Never Failing Skill He Treasures Up His Bright Designs, 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. Judge Not The Lord By Feeble Sense, But Trust Him For His Grace; Behind A Frowning Providence He Hides A Smiling Face.

-William Cowper

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God Moves In A

William Cowper

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God Moves In A Mysterious Way His Wonders To Perform; He Plants His Footsteps In The Sea, And Rides Upon The Storm. Deep In Unfathomable Mines Of Never Failing Skill He Treasures Up His Bright Designs, 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. 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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In The Vast, And The Minute, We See The Unambiguous Footsteps Of The God, Who Gives Its Lustre To An Insect's Wing And Wheels His Throne Upon The Rolling Worlds.

Man Disavows, And Deity Disowns Me: Hell Might Afford My Miseries A Shelter; Therefore Hell Keeps Her Ever-hungry Mouths All Bolted Against Me.

A Lawyer's Dealings Should Be Just And Fair; Honesty Shines With Great Advantage There.

[my Kitten] Is Dressed In A Tortoise-shell Suit, And I Know You Will Delight In Her.

The Man That Dares Traduce, Because He Can With Safety To Himself, Is Not A Man.

It Chills My Blood To Hear The Blest Supreme Rudely Appealed To On Each Trifling Theme.

Events Of All Sorts Creep Or Fly Exactly As God Pleases.

The Darkest Day, If You Live Till Tomorrow, Will Have Passed Away.

Anticipated Rents, And Bills Unpaid, Force Many A Shining Youth Into The Shade, Not To Redeem His Time, But His Estate, And Play The Fool, But At The Cheaper Rate.

Pernicious Weed! Whose Scent The Fair Annoys, Unfriendly To Society's Chief Joys: Thy Worst Effect Is Banishing For Hours The Sex Whose Presence Civilizes Ours.

This Fond Attachment To The Well-known Place Whence First We Started Into Life's Long Race, Maintains Its Hold With Such Unfailing Sway, We Feel It E'en In Age, And At Our Latest Day.

How Soft The Music Of Those Village Bells, Falling At Interval Upon The Ear In Cadence Sweet; Now Dying All Away, Now Pealing Loud Again, And Louder Still, Clear And Sonorous, As The Gale Comes On! With Easy Force It Opens All The Cells Where Memory Slept.

Unless A Love Of Virtue Light The Flame, Satire Is, More Than Those He Brands, To Blame; He Hides Behind A Magisterial Air He Own Offences, And Strips Others' Bare.

God Moves In Mysterious Ways His Wonders To Performs

In Indolent Vacuity Of Thought.

Strength May Wield The Ponderous Spade, May Turn The Clod, And Wheel The Compost Home; But Elegance, Chief Grace The Garden Shows, And Most Attractive, Is The Fair Result Of Thought, The Creature Of A Polished Mind.

Glory, Built On Selfish Principles, Is Shame And Guilt.

Ages Elapsed Ere Homer's Lamp Appear'd, And Ages Ere The Mantuan Swan Was Heard: To Carry Nature Lengths Unknown Before, To Give A Milton Birth, Ask'd Ages More.

But Slaves That Once Conceive The Glowing Thought Of Freedom, In That Hope Itself Possess All That The Contest Calls For; Spirit, Strength, The Scorn Of Danger, And United Hearts, The Surest Presage Of The Good They Seek.

To Follow Foolish Precedents, And Wink With Both Our Eyes, Is Easier Than To Think.

Nor Rural Sights Alone, But Rural Sounds, Exhilirate The Spirit, And Restore The Tone Of Languid Nature.

Existence Is A Strange Bargain. Life Owes Us Little; We Owe It Everything. The Only True Happiness Comes From Squandering Ourselves For A Purpose.

The Man That Hails You Tom Or Jack, And Proves By Thumps Upon Your Back How He Esteems Your Merit, Is Such A Friend, That One Had Need Be Very Much His Friend Indeed To Pardon Or To Bear It.

Poor England! Thou Art A Devoted Deer, Beset With Every Ill But That Of Fear. The Nations Hunt; All Mock Thee For A Prey; They Swarm Around Thee, And Thou Stand'st At Bay.

Ten Thousand Casks, Forever Dribbling Out Their Base Contents, Touch'd By The Midas Finger Of The State, Bleed Gold For Ministers To Sport Away. Drink, And Be Mad Then; 'tis Your Country Bids!

The Innocent Seldom Find An Uncomfortable Pillow.

They Best Can Judge A Poet's Worth, Who Oft Themselves Have Known The Pangs Of A Poetic Birth By Labours Of Their Own.

As Creeping Ivy Clings To Wood Or Stone, And Hides The Ruin That It Feeds Upon, So Sophistry, Cleaves Close To, And Protects Sin's Rotten Trunk, Concealing Its Defects.

Heaven Speed The Canvas, Gallantly Unfurl'd, To Furnish And Accommodate A World, To Give The Pole The Produce Of The Sun, And Knit The Unsocial Climates Into One.

They Love The Country, And None Else, Who Seek For Their Own Sake Its Silence And Its Shade. Delights Which Who Would Leave, That Has A Heart Susceptible Of Pity, Or A Mind Cultured And Capable Of Sober Thought.

I Pity Bashful Men, Who Feel The Pain Of Fancied Scorn And Undeserved Disdain, And Bear The Marks Upon A Blushing Face, Of Needless Shame, And Self-impos'd Disgrace.

In Man Or Woman, But Far Most In Man, And Most Of All In Man That Ministers, And Serves The Altar, In My Soul I Loathe All Affectation. 'tis My Perfect Scorn: Object Of My Implacable Disgust.

He Is The Freeman Whom The Truth Makes Free, And All Are Slaves Besides.

The Few That Pray At All Pray Oft Amiss.

It Is A Terrible Thought, That Nothing Is Ever Forgotten; That Not An Oath Is Ever Uttered That Does Not Continue To Vibrate Through All Times, In The Wide Spreading Current Of Sound; That Not A Prayer Is Lisped, That Its Record Is Not To Be Found St

Religion! What Treasure Untold Resides In That Heavenly Word!

A Moral, Sensible, And Well-bred Manwill Not Affront Me, And No Other Can.

Made Poetry A Mere Mechanic Art.

No Tree In All The Grove But Has Its Charms, Though Each Its Hue Peculiar.

Perhaps Thou Gav'st Me, Though Unseen, A Kiss; Perhaps A Tear, If Souls Can Weep In Bliss.

An Inadvertent Step May Crush The Snail That Crawls At Evening In The Public Path. But He That Has Humanity, Forewarned, Will Turn Aside And Let The Reptile Live.

My Soul Is Sick With Every Day's Report Of Wrong And Outrage With Which Earth Is Filled.

God Moves In A Mysterious Way His Wonders To Perform; He Plants His Footsteps In The Sea, And Rides Upon The Storm. Deep In Unfathomable Mines Of Never Failing Skill He Treasures Up His Bright Designs, 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. Judge Not The Lord By Feeble Sense, But Trust Him For His Grace; Behind A Frowning Providence He Hides A Smiling Face.

Pleasure Admitted In Undue Degree, Enslaves The Will, Nor Leaves The Judgment Free.

How Much A Dunce That Has Been Sent To Roam, Excels A Dunce That Has Been Kept At Home.

The Parson Knows Enough Who Knows A Duke.

The Nurse Sleeps Sweetly, Hired To Watch The Sick, / Whom, Snoring, She Disturbs.

Great Offices Will Have Great Talents, And God Gives To Every Man The Virtue, Temper, Understanding, Taste, That Lifts Him Into Life, And Lets Him Fall Just In The Niche He Was Ordained To Fill.

God Never Meant That Man Should Scale The Heavens By Strides Of Human Wisdom. In His Works, Though Wondrous, He Commands Us In His Word To Seek Him Rather Where His Mercy Shines.

Fancy, Like The Finger Of A Clock, Runs The Great Circuit, And Is Still At Home.

Acquaint Thyself With God, If Thou Would'st Taste His Works. Admitted Once To His Embrace, Thou Shalt Perceive That Thou Was Blind Before: Thine Eye Shall Be Instructed; And Thine Heart Made Pure Shall Relish With Divine Delight Till Then Unfelt, What Hands Divine Have Wrought.

The Cares Of Today Are Seldom Those Of Tomorrow.

He That Negotiates Between God And Man, As God's Ambassador, The Grand Concerns Of Judgment And Of Mercy, Should Beware Of Lightness In His Speech.

The Things That Mount The Rostrum With A Skip, And Then Skip Down Again, Pronounce A Text, Cry Hem; And Reading What They Never Wrote Just Fifteen Minutes, Huddle Up Their Work, And With A Well-bred Whisper Close The Scene!

Toil For The Brave! The Brave That Are No More.

Not To Understand A Treasure's Worth Till Time Has Stole Away The Slighted Good, Is Cause Of Half The Poverty We Feel, And Makes The World The Wilderness It Is.

What Peaceful Hours I Once Enjoy'd! How Sweet Their Memory Still! But They Have Left An Aching Void The World Can Never Fill.

God Moves In A Mysterious Way, His Wonders To Perform. He Plants His Footsteps In The Sea, And Rides Upon The Storm.

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.

But Conversation, Choose What Theme We May, And Chiefly When Religion Leads The Way, Should Flow, Like Waters After Summer Show'rs, Not As If Raised By Mere Mechanic Powers.

Most Satirists Are Indeed A Public Scourge; Their Mildest Physic Is A Farrier's Purge; Their Acrid Temper Turns, As Soon As Stirr'd, The Milk Of Their Good Purpose All To Curd. Their Zeal Begotten, As Their Works Rehearse, By Lean Despair Upon An Empty Purse.

When Nations Are To Perish In Their Sins, 'tis In The Church The Leprosy Begins.

Forgot The Blush That Virgin Fears Impart To Modest Cheeks, And Borrowed One From Art.

The Art Of Poetry Is To Touch The Passions, And Its Duty To Lead Them On The Side Of Virtue.

The Beggarly Last Doit.

Thieves At Home Must Hang; But He That Puts Into His Overgorged And Bloated Purse The Wealth Of Indian Provinces, Escapes.

And Hast Thou Sworn On Every Slight Pretence, Till Perjuries Are Common As Bad Pence, While Thousands, Careless Of The Damning Sin, Kiss The Book's Outside, Who Ne'er Look'd Within?

Great Offices Will Have Great Talents.

Ye Fearful Saints Fresh Courage Take, The Clouds You So Much Dread Are Big With Mercy And Shall Break, With Blessings On Your Head

The Only Amarantine Flower On Earth Is Virtue.

Thus Happiness Depends, As Nature Shows, Less On Exterior Things Than Most Suppose.

Where Penury Is Felt The Thought Is Chain'd, And Sweet Colloquial Pleasures Are But Few.

Be It A Weakness, It Deserves Some Praise, We Love The Play-place Of Our Early Days; The Scene Is Touching, And The Heart Is Stone, That Feels Not At That Sight, And Feels At None.

Nature Is A Good Name For An Effect Whose Cause Is God.

E'er Since, By Faith, I Saw The Stream Thy Flowing Wounds Supply, Redeeming Love Has Been My Theme, And Shall Be Till I Die.

All Flesh Is Grass. And All Its Glory Fades Like The Fair Flower Dishevell'd In The Wind; Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream; The Man We Celebrate Must Find A Tomb, And We That Worship Him, Ignoble Graves.

Then Liberty, Like Day, Breaks On The Soul, And By A Flash From Heaven Fires All The Faculties With Glorious Joy.

Lived In His Saddle, Loved The Chase, The Course, And Always, Ere He Mounted, Kiss'd His Horse.

Good Sense, Good Health, Good Conscience, And Good Fame,--all These Belong To Virtue, And All Prove That Virtue Has A Title To Your Love.

If Hindrances Obstruct The Way, Thy Magnanimity Display. And Let Thy Strength Be Seen: But O, If Fortune Fill Thy Sail With More Than A Propitious Gale, Take Half Thy Canvas In.

Pleasure Is Labour Too, And Tires As Much.

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.

...so Let Us Welcome Peaceful Evening In.

How Readily We Wish Time Spent Revoked, That We Might Try The Ground Again Where Once--through Inexperience, As We Now Perceive--we Missed That Happiness We Might Have Found!

Go, Mark The Matchless Working Of The Power That Shuts Within The Seed The Future Flower; Bids These In Elegance Of Form Excel. In Color These, And Those Delight The Smell; Sends Nature Forth, The Daughter Of The Skies, To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.

Could He With Reason Murmur At His Case, Himself Sole Author Of His Own Disgrace?

Sends Nature Forth The Daughter Of The Skies... To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.

His Wit Invites You By His Looks To Come, But When You Knock, It Never Is At Home.

Man On The Dubious Waves Of Error Toss'd.

... She, That Will With Kittens Jest, Should Bear A Kitten's Joke.

Whoever Keeps An Open Ear For Tattlers Will Be Sure To Hear The Trumpet Of Contention.

I Will Venture To Assert, That A Just Translation Of Any Ancient Poet In Rhyme Is Impossible. No Human Ingenuity Can Be Equal To The Task Of Closing Every Couplet With Sounds Homotonous, Expressing At The Same Time The Full Sense, And Only The Full Sense Of His Original.

Fashion, Leader Of A Chatt'ring Train, Whom Man For His Own Hurt Permits To Reign Who Shifts And Changes All Things But His Shape, And Would Degrade Her Vot'ry To An Ape, The Fruitful Parent Of Abuse And Wrong, Holds A Usurp'd Dominion O'er His Tongue, There Sits And Prompts Him With His Own Disgrace, Prescribes The Theme, The Tone, And The Grimace, And When Accomplish'd In Her Wayward School, Calls Gentleman Whom She Has Made A Fool.

Just Knows, And Knows No More, Her Bible True,- A Truth The Brilliant Frenchman Never Knew.

All Zeal For A Reform, That Gives Offence To Peace And Charity, Is Mere Pretence.

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.

Who Loves A Garden Loves A Greenhouse Too.

Religion, Richest Favor Of The Skies.

Happy The Man Who Sees A God Employed In All The Good And Ills That Checker Life.

Mansions Once Knew Their Own Masters, And Laborious Hinds, That Had Surviv'd The Father, Serv'd The Son. Now The Legitimate And Rightful Lord Is But A Transient Guest, Newly Arrived, And Soon To Be Supplanted. He That Saw His Patrimonial Timber Cast Its Leaf, Sells The Last Scantling, And Transfers The Price To Some Shrewd Sharper Ere It Buds Again. Estates Are Landscapes, Gazed Upon Awhile, Then Advertised And Auctioneer'd Away.

And In That Hour, The Seeds Of Cruelty, That Since Have Swell'd To Such Gigantic And Enormous Growth, Were Sown In Human Nature's Fruitful Soil. Hence Date The Persecution And The Pain That Man Inflicts On All Inferior Kinds, Regardless Of Their Plaints.

Manner Is All In All, Whate'er Is Writ,the Substitute For Genius, Sense, And Wit.

Some Men Make Gain A Fountain, Whence Proceeds A Stream Of Liberal And Heroic Deeds; The Swell Of Pity, Not To Be Confined Within The Scanty Limits Of The Mind.

Tis Providence Alone Secures In Every Change Both Mine And Yours.

How Various His Employments Whom The World Calls Idle; And Who Justly In Return Esteems That Busy World An Idler Too!

Built God A Church And Laughed His Word To Scorn.

A Tale Should Be Judicious, Clear, Succinct; The Language Plain, And Incidents Well Link'd; Tell Not As New What Ev'ry Body Knows; And, New Or Old, Still Hasten To A Close.

Some To The Fascination Of A Name, Surrender Judgment Hoodwinked.

Domestic Happiness, Thou Only Bliss Of Paradise That Has Surviv'd The Fall!

Friends, Books, A Garden, And Perhaps His Pen, Delightful Industry Enjoy'd At Home, An Nature, In Her Cultivated Trim Dress'ed To His Taste, Inviting Him Abroad - Can He Want Occupation Who Has These?

England With All Thy Faults, I Love Thee Still-- My Country! And, While Yet A Nook Is Left Where English Minds And Manners May Be Found, Shall Be Constrained To Love Thee.

Blest Be The Art That Can Immortalize,--the Art That Baffles Time's Tyrannic Claim To Quench It.

Tea - The Cups That Cheer But Not Inebriate.

All We Behold Is Miracle.

Absence Of Proof Is Not Proof Of Absence.

Give What Thou Canst, Without Thee We Are Poor; And With Thee Rich, Take What Thou Wilt Away.

True Modesty Is A Discerning Grace And Only Blushes In The Proper Place; But Counterfeit Is Blind, And Skulks Through Fear, Where 'tis A Shame To Be Asham'd T' Appear: Humility The Parent Of The First, The Last By Vanity Produc'd And Nurs'd.

The Rich Are Too Indolent, The Poor Too Weak, To Bear The Insupportable Fatigue Of Thinking.

Absence From Whom We Love Is Worse Than Death, And Frustrates Hope Severer Than Despair.

A Life All Turbulence And Noise May Seem To Him That Leads It Wise And To Be Praised, But Wisdom Is A Pearl With Most Success Sought In Still Waters.

What Is It But A Map Of Busy Life, Its Fluctuations, And Its Vast Concerns?

How Fleet Is A Glance Of The Mind! Compared With The Speed Of Its Flight, The Tempest Itself Lags Behind, And The Swift-winged Arrows Of Light.

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.

The Dogs Did Bark, The Children Screamed, Up Flew The Windows All; And Every Soul Bawled Out, Well Done! As Loud As He Could Bawl.

Great Contest Follows, And Much Learned Dust Involves The Combatants; Each Claiming Truth, And Truth Disclaiming Both.

Absence Of Occupation Is Not Rest; A Mind Quite Vacant Is A Mind Distressed.

I Would Not Enter On My List Of Friends (though Graced With Polished Manners And Fine Sense, Yet Wanting Sensibility) The Man Who Needlessly Sets Foot Upon A Worm.

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.

A Life Of Ease Is A Difficult Pursuit.

Absence Of Occupation Is Not Rest.

What Is There In The Vale Of Lifehalf So Delightful As A Wife;when Friendship, Love And Peace Combineto Stamp The Marriage-bond Divine?

Friendship Love

Vice Stings Us Even In Our Pleasures, But Virtue Consoles Us Even In Our Pains.

To Trace In Nature's Most Minute Design The Signature And Stamp Of Power Divine. ... The Invisible In Things Scarce Seen Revealed, To Whom An Atom Is An Ample Field.

The Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flower.

Sin Let Loose Speaks Punishment At Hand.

There Goes The Parson, Oh Illustrious Spark! And There, Scarce Less Illustrious, Goes The Clerk.

But Many A Crime Deemed Innocent On Earth Is Registered In Heaven; And These No Doubt Have Each Their Record, With A Curse Annex'd.

The Fall Of Waters And The Song Of Birds, And Hills That Echo To The Distant Berds, Are Luxuries Excelling All The Glare The World Can Boast, And Her Chief Favorites Share.

Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream.

Some Drill And Bore The Solid Earth, And From The Strata There Extract A Register, By Which We Learn, That He Who Made It, And Reveal'd Its Date To Moses, Was Mistaken In Its Age.

Accomplishments Have Taken Virtue's Place, And Wisdom Falls Before Exterior Grace.

The Spleen Is Seldom Felt Where Flora Reigns; The Low'ring Eye, The Petulance, The Frown, And Sullen Sadness, That O'ershade, Distort, And Mar The Face Of Beauty, When No Cause For Such Immeasurable Woe Appears; These Flora Banishes, And Gives The Fair Sweet Smiles, And Bloom Less Transient Than Her Own.

I Have A Kitten,the Drollest Of All Creatures That Ever Wore A Cat's Skin.

I Would Not Have A Slave To Till My Ground, To Carry Me, To Fan Me While I Sleep, And Tremble When I Wake, For All The Wealth That Sinews Bought And Sold Have Ever Earn'd.

Philologists, Who Chase A Painting Syllable Through Time And Space Start It At Home, And Hunt It In The Dark, To Gaul, To Greece, And Into Noah's Ark.

We Turn To Dust, And All Our Mightiest Works Die Too.

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."

Sacred Interpreter Of Human Thought, How Few Respect Or Use Thee As They Ought! But All Shall Give Account Of Every Wrong, Who Dare Dishonor Or Defile The Tongue; Who Prostitute It In The Cause Of Vice, Or Sell Their Glory At A Market-price!

Ye Therefore Who Love Mercy, Teach Your Sons To Love It, Too.

Some People Are More Nice Than Wise.

Scenes Must Be Beautiful Which Daily View'd Please Daily, And Whose Novelty Survives Long Knowledge And The Scrutiny Of Years.

A Story, In Which Native Humour Reigns, Is Often Useful, Always Entertains; A Graver Fact, Enlisted On Your Side, May Furnish Illustration, Well Applied; But Sedentary Weavers Of Long Tales Give Me The Fidgets, And My Patience Fails.

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.

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;the Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flow’r. Blind Unbelief Is Sure To Err And Scan His Work In Vain; God Is His Own Interpreter, And He Will Make It Plain.

But Animated Nature Sweeter Still, To Soothe And Satisfy The Human Ear.

I Was A Poet Too; But Modern Taste Is So Refined And Delicate And Chaste, That Verse, Whatever Fire The Fancy Warms, Without A Creamy Smoothness Has No Charms. Thus, All Success Depending On An Ear, And Thinking I Might Purchase It Too Dear, If Sentiment Were Sacrific'd To Sound, And Truth Cut Short To Make A Period Round, I Judg'd A Man Of Sense Could Scarce Do Worse Than Caper In The Morris-dance Of Verse.

They Whom Truth And Wisdom Lead, Can Gather Honey From A Weed.

Greece, Sound, Thy Homer's, Rome Thy Virgil's Name, But England's Milton Equals Both In Fame.

Folly Ends Where Genuine Hope Begins.

He That Has Seen Both Sides Of Fifty Has Lived To Little Purpose If He Has No Other Views Of The World Than He Had When He Was Much Younger.

I Venerate The Man Whose Heart Is Warm, Whose Hands Are Pure, Whose Doctrine And Whose Life, Coincident, Exhibit Lucid Proof That He Is Honest In The Sacred Cause.

Lights Of The World, And Stars Of Human Race.

To See The Law By Christ Fulfilled, And Hear His Pardoning Voice Changes A Slave Into A Child, And Duty Into Choice.

Religion Does Not Censure Or Exclude Unnumbered Pleasures, Harmlessly Pursued.

Where Men Of Judgment Creep And Feel Their Way, The Positive Pronounce Without Dismay.

An Idler Is A Watch That Wants Both Hands; As Useless If It Goes As When It Stands.

But, Oh, Thou Bounteous Giver Of All Good, Thou Art, Of All Thy Gifts, Thyself Thy Crown!

Pity! Religion Has So Seldom Found A Skilful Guide Into Poetic Ground! The Flowers Would Spring Where'er She Deign'd To Stray And Every Muse Attend Her In Her Way.

Without One Friend, Above All Foes, Britannia Gives The World Repose.

Grief Is Itself A Medicine.

And Diff'ring Judgments Serve But To Declare That Truth Lies Somewhere, If We Knew But Where.

Strange As It May Seem, The Most Ludicrous Lines I Ever Wrote Have Been Written In The Saddest Mood.

A Man Renowned For Repartee Will Seldom Scruple To Make Free With Friendship's Finest Feeling, Will Thrust A Dagger At Your Breast, And Say He Wounded You In Jest, By Way Of Balm For Healing.

Men Deal With Life As Children With Their Play, Who First Misuse, Then Cast Their Toys Away.

That Good Diffused May More Abundant Grow.

Man May Dismiss Compassion From His Heart, But God Never Will.

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 Throws Up A Steamy Column, And The Cups That Cheer But Not Inebriate, Wait On Each, So Let Us Welcome Peaceful Evening In

I Seem Forsaken And Alone, / I Hear The Lion Roar; / And Every Door Is Shut But One, / And That Is Mercy's Door.

Admirals Extolled For Standing Still, Or Doing Nothing With A Deal Of Skill.

Spring Hangs Her Infant Blossoms On The Trees, Rock'd In The Cradle Of The Western Breeze.

Words Learn'd By Rote A Parrot May Rehearse, But Talking Is Not Always To Converse, Not More Distinct From Harmony Divine The Constant Creaking Of A Country Sign.

Solitude, Seeming A Sanctuary, Proves A Grave; A Sepulchre In Which The Living Lie, Where All Good Qualities Grow Sick And Die

Defend Me, Therefore, Common Sense, Say From Reveries So Airy, From The Toil Of Dropping Buckets Into Empty Wells, And Growing Old In Drawing Nothing Up.

Far Happier Are The Dead Methinks Than They Who Look For Death And Fear It Every Day.

He That Attends To His Interior Self, That Has A Heart, And Keeps It; Has A Mind That Hungers, And Supplies It; And Who Seeks A Social, Not A Dissipated Life, Has Business.

The Statesman, Lawyer, Merchant, Man Of Trade Pants For The Refuge Of Some Rural Shade, Where All His Long Anxieties Forgot Amid The Charms Of A Sequester'd Spot, Or Recollected Only To Gild O'er And Add A Smile To What Was Sweet Before, He May Possess The Joys He Thinks He Sees, Lay His Old Age Upon The Lap Of Ease, Improve The Remnant Of His Wasted Span. And Having Lived A Trifler, Die A Man.

No Traveler E'er Reached That Blest Abode Who Found Not Thorns And Briers In His Road.

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

The Only Amaranthine Flower On Earth Is Virtue; The Only Lasting Treasure, Truth.

We Bear Our Shades About Us; Self-deprived Of Other Screen, The Thin Umbrella Spread, And Range An Indian Waste Without A Tree.

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, After Long Drought When Rains Abundant Fall, He Hears The Herbs And Flowers Rejoicing All.

Misery Still Delights To Trace Its Semblance In Another's Case.

A Self-made Man? Yes, And One Who Worships His Creator.

God Made The Country, And Man Made The Town.

Trials Make The Promise Sweet, Trials Give New Life To Prayer; Trials Bring Me To His Feet, Lay Me Low, And Keep Me There.

It Is A General Rule Of Judgment, That A Mischief Should Rather Be Admitted Than An Inconvenience.

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.

Remorse, The Fatal Egg That Pleasure Laid.

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.

Satan Trembles When He Sees The Weakest Saint Upon Their Knees.

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