The Works of William Cowper: His Life and Letters, Volume 6

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Page xlvii - Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! Give what thou caust, without thee we are poor ; And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away ! " In like manner the Millennium of Cowper is at least not inferior to the Messiah of Pope.
Page 224 - Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms, That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear ; Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.
Page 206 - Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, But not to manage leisure with a grace ; Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd.
Page xx - 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.
Page xlviii - One song employs all nations; and all cry, ' Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!' The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round.
Page 249 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more.
Page 208 - Nor those of learn'd philologists, who chase A panting syllable through time and space, Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark...
Page xlii - The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown : No traveller ever reached that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briars in his road.
Page 210 - I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd — How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude ! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper— solitude is sweet.
Page 256 - Suspend the effect or heal it ? Has not God Still wrought by means since first he made the world, And did he not of old employ his means To drown it ? What is his creation less Than a capacious reservoir of means Formed for his use, and ready at his will...

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