William Cowper

I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
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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.

And prate and preach about what others prove,
As if the world and they were hand and glove.

And prate and preach about what others prove,
As if the world and they were hand and glove.

Commemoration of Charles Williams, Spiritual Writer, 1945 I thirst, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth read more

Commemoration of Charles Williams, Spiritual Writer, 1945 I thirst, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth to share; Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid That I should seek my pleasures there. It was the sight of Thy dear cross First weaned my soul from earthly things; And taught me to esteem as dross The mirth of fools, and pomp of kings. I want that grace that springs from Thee, That quickens all things where it flows; And makes a wretched thorn like me Bloom as the myrtle or the rose. Dear fountain of delight unknown! No longer sink beneath the brim, But overflow, and pour me down A living and life-giving stream! For sure, if all the plants that share The notice of Thy Father's eye, None proves less grateful to His care, Or yields Him meaner fruit than I.

But conversation, choose what theme we may,
And chiefly when religion leads the way,
Should flow, like read more

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.

Praise enough
To fill the ambition of a private man,
That Chatham's language was his mother-tongue.

Praise enough
To fill the ambition of a private man,
That Chatham's language was his mother-tongue.