William Cowper ( 10 of 184 )
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.
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
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.
Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor;
And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor;
And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls at evening in the public path.
But he read more
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.
There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark!
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark!
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furniture,
let us be more ashamed of shabby read more
If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furniture,
let us be more ashamed of shabby ideas and shoddy
philosophies. . . . It would be a sad situation if the wrapper
were better than the meat wrapped inside it.
God made bees, and bees made honey,
God made man, and man made money,
Pride made the read more
God made bees, and bees made honey,
God made man, and man made money,
Pride made the devil, and the devil made sin;
So God made a cole-pit to put the devil in.
- transcribed by James Henry Dixon,
Prison'd in a parlour snug and small,
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall.
Prison'd in a parlour snug and small,
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall.
I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
read more
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.
