William Cowper

Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.

E'vn in the stifling bosom of the town, A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms That soothes the rich possessor; much consol'd, That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint, Or nightshade, or valerian, grace the well He cultivates.

God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.

Happiness depends, as Nature shows, Less on exterior things than most suppose.

Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

Beware of desperate steps; the darkest day, Lived till tomorrow, will have passed away.

How much a dunce that has been sent to roam Excels a dunce that has been kept at home!

Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.

I cannot talk with civet in the room, A fine puss-gentleman that 's all perfume.