William Cowper Poems

  • 451.  
    This is the feast of heavenly wine,
    And God invites to sup; The juices of the living Vine
  • 452.  
    Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
    From strife and tumult far; From scenes where Satan wages still
  • 453.  
    When darkness long has veil'd my mind,
    And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find
  • 454.  
    There is a fountain fill'd with blood,
    Drawn from Emmanuel's veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
  • 455.  
    This evening, Delia, you and I,
    Have managed most delightfully,For with a frown we parted;
  • 456.  
    Honor and happiness unite
    To make the Christian's name a praise; How fair the scene, how clear the light,
  • 457.  
    Lord, who hast suffer'd all for me,
    My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for Thee,
  • 458.  
    There was a time when Ã?tna's silent fire
    Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire;When, conscious of no danger from below,
  • 459.  
    What thousands never knew the road!
    What thousands hate it when 'tis known! None but the chosen tribes of God
  • 460.  
    With seeds and birdlime, from the desert air,
    Eumelus gather'd free, though scanty fare.No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss
  • 461.  
    (Ezekiel, xlviii.35)

  • 462.  
    An Oyster, cast upon the shore,
    Was heard, though never heard before,Complaining in a speech well worded,
  • 463.  
    By whom was David taught
    To aim the deadly blow, When he Goliath fought,
  • 464.  
    Thou hast no lightnings, O thou Just!
    Or I their force should know;And, if thou strike me into dust,
  • 465.  
    Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart,
    Which of itself complains, And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
  • 466.  
    Here lies, whom hound did neâ??er pursue,
    Nor swiftewd greyhound follow, Whose foot neâ??er tainted morning dew,
  • 467.  
    Reasoning at every step he treads,
    Man yet mistakes his way,While meaner things whom instinct leads
  • 468.  
    I sing the Sofa. I who lately sang
    Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touched with aweThe solemn chords, and with a trembling hand,
  • 469.  
    Oh! for a closer walk with God,
    A calm and heavenly frame; A light to shine upon the road
  • 470.  
    To watch the storms, and hear the sky
    Give all our almanacks the lie;To shake with cold, and see the plains
  • 471.  
    On the Burning of Lord Mansfield's Library, Together with his MSS. by the Mob, in the Month of June 1780.

  • 472.  
    To tell the Saviour all my wants,
    How pleasing is the task! Nor less to praise Him when He grants
  • 473.  
    The billows swell, the winds are high,
    Clouds overcast my wintry sky; Out of the depths to Thee I call, -
  • 474.  
    God gives his mercies to be spent;
    Your hoard will do your soul no good. Gold is a blessing only lent,
  • 475.  
    The Lord proclaims His grace abroad!
    'Behold, I change your hearts of stone; Each shall renounce his idol-god,
  • 476.  
    (Isaiah, ix. 15-20)

  • 477.  
    There's not an echo round me,
    But I am glad should learn,How pure a fire has found me,
  • 478.  
    The Spirit breathes upon the word,
    And brings the truth to sight; Precepts and promises afford
  • 479.  
    God gives his mercies to be spent;
    Your hoard will do your soul no good. Gold is a blessing only lent,
  • 480.  
    Long plunged in sorrow, I resign
    My soul to that dear hand of thine,Without reserve or fear;
  • 481.  
    Thus heav'nward all things tend. For all were once
    Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd. So God has greatly purpos'd; who would else
  • 482.  
    Austin, accept a grateful verse from me,
    The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee.Loved by the Muses, thy ingenuous mind
  • 483.  
    They mock my toil--the nymphs and am'rous swains--
    And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry,Love-songs in language that thou little know'st?
  • 484.  
    Pay me my price, potters! and I will sing.
    Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm Protect their oven; let the cups and all
  • 485.  
    The genius of the Augustan age
    His head among Rome's ruins reared,And bursting with heroic rage,
  • 486.  
    You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours,
    And save from withering my poetic powers;Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow
  • 487.  
    Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
    Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew.An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
  • 488.  
    All-worshipped Gold! thou mighty mystery
    Say by what name shall I address thee rather,Our blessing, or our bane? Without thy aid,
  • 489.  
    Ah! reign, wherever man is found!
    My spouse, beloved and divine!Then I am rich, and I abound,
  • 490.  
    I slept when Venus enter'd: to my bed
    A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led,A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said:
  • 491.  
    Why weeps the muse for England? What appears
    In England's case to move the muse to tears?From side to side of her delightful isle
  • 492.  
    Mercator, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit,
    Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes;Lenè sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis,
  • 493.  
    The saints should never be dismay'd,
    Nor sink in hopeless fear; For when they least expect His aid,
  • 494.  
    The Saviour, what a noble flame
    Was kindled in his breast, When hasting to Jerusalem,
  • 495.  
    There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
    And as the mind is pitchâ??d the ear is pleasedWith melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
  • 496.  
    Grace, triumphant in the throne,
    Scorns a rival, reigns alone; Come and bow beneath her sway;
  • 497.  
    A Nightingale that all day long
    Had cheered the village with his song,Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
  • 498.  
    Sin enslaved me many years,
    And led me bound and blind; Till at length a thousand fears
  • 499.  
    Season of my purest pleasure,
    Sealer of observing eyes!When, in larger, freer measure,
  • 500.  
    This cap, that so stately apepars,
    With ribbon-bound tassel on high,Which seems by the crest that it rears
Total 532 poems written by William Cowper

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

There where the rusty iron lies,
The rooks are cawing all the day.
Perhaps no man, until he dies,
Will understand them, what they say.

The evening makes the sky like clay.
The slow wind waits for night to rise.
The world is half content. But they

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