William Cowper ( 10 of 184 )
Would I describe a preacher,
. . . .
I would express him simple, grave, sincere;
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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,
And natural in gesture; much impress'd
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge,
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds
May feel it too; affectionate in look,
And tender in address, as well becomes
A messenger of grace to guilty men.
Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise,
We love the play-place of our early days;
The read more
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.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, read more
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some.
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
So that the jest is clearly to be seen,
Not in the words--but in the gap between;
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So that the jest is clearly to be seen,
Not in the words--but in the gap between;
Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,
The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
Habits of close attention, thinking heads,
Become more rare as dissipation spreads,
Till authors hear at length read more
Habits of close attention, thinking heads,
Become more rare as dissipation spreads,
Till authors hear at length one general cry
Tickle and entertain us, or we die!
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at interval upon the ear
In cadence sweet; read more
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.
Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife,
His only answer was a blameless life;
And he read more
Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife,
His only answer was a blameless life;
And he that forged, and he that threw the dart,
Had each a brother's interest in his heart.
Pleasure admitted in undue degree
Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
Pleasure admitted in undue degree
Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
