Ephraim Repenting. - Jeremiah xxxi.18-20.

My God, till I received thy stroke,
How like a beast was I!
So unaccustomd to the yoke,
So backward to comply.


With grief my just reproach I bear,
Shame fills me at the thought;
How frequent my rebellions were!
What wickedness I wrought!


Thy merciful restraint I scornd,
And left the pleasant road;
Yet turn me, and I shall be turnd,
Thou art the Lord my God.


Is Ephraim banishd from my thoughts,
Or vile in my esteem?
No, saith the Lord, with all his faults,
I still remember him.


Is he a dear and pleasant child?
Yes, dear and pleasant still;
Though sin his foolish heart beguiled,
And he withstood my will.


My sharp rebuke has laid him low,
He seeks my face again;
My pity kindles at his woe,
He shall not seek in vain.

William Cowper

William Cowper was an English poet and hymnodist known for his contributions to English literature and the Evangelical revival of the 18th century. He suffered from periods of severe depression and mental illness, which influenced much of his work. Despite his struggles, Cowper produced notable works including 'Olney Hymns' in collaboration with John Newton and 'The Task,' which gained considerable popularity. His poetry is often characterized by its introspective, religious, and sometimes melancholic themes.

William Cowper

A Living And A Dead Faith.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Contrite Heart. - Isaiah lvii.15.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

On A Mischievous Bull, Which The Owner Of Him Sold At The Authors Instance.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Lines Addressed To Dr. Darwin, Author Of The Botanic Garden.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Peace After A Storm.

When darkness long has veild my mind,
And smiling day once more appears;
Then, my Redeemer, then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.


Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of thee!


Oh! let me then at length be taught
What I am still so slow to learn;
That God is love, and changes not,
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.


Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!
But, when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.


But, O my Lord, one look from thee
Subdues the disobedient will;
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And thy rebellious worm is still.


Thou ...

William Cowper

The Contrite Heart. - Isaiah lvii.15.

The Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?


I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;
If aught is felt, tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.


I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all thats good.


My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more:
But when I cry, My strength renew,
Seem weaker than before.


Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.


O make this heart rejoice or ache;
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken,...

William Cowper

Prayer For Patience.

Lord, who hast sufferd all for me,
My peace and pardon to procure,
The lighter cross I bear for thee,
Help me with patience to endure.


The storm of loud repining hush,
I would in humble silence mourn;
Why should the unburnt though burning bush,
Be angry as the crackling thorn?


Man should not faint at thy rebuke,
Like Joshua falling on his face,^[1]
When the curst thing that Achan took
Brought Israel into just disgrace.


Perhaps some golden wedge suppressd,
Some secret sin offends my God;
Perhaps that Babylonish vest,
Self-righteousness, provokes the rod.


Ah! were I buffeted all day,
Mockd, crownd with thorns, and spit upon;
I yet should have no right to say,
My great distress is mine a...

William Cowper

An Epistle To An Afflicted Protestant Lady In France.

Madam,A strangers purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate, and not to praise.
To give the creature the Creators due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or een to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by craft for follys use designd,
Spurious, and only current with the blind.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveller ever reachd that blest abode,
Who found not thorns and briers in his road.
The world may dance along the flowery plain,
Cheerd as they go by many a sprightly strain,
Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread,
With unshod feet they yet securely tread,
Admonishd, scorn the caution and the friend,
Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end.

William Cowper

Jehovah Our Righteousness. - Jeremiah xxiii.6.

My God, how perfect are thy ways!
But mine polluted are;
Sin twines itself about my praise,
And slides into my prayer.


When I would speak what thou hast done,
To save me from my sin,
I cannot make thy mercies known,
But self-applause creeps in.


Divine desire, that holy flame
Thy grace creates in me;
Alas! impatience is its name,
When it returns to thee.


This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts,
How does it overflow!
While self upon the surface floats,
Still bubbling from below.


Let others in the gaudy dress
Of fancied merit shine;
The Lord shall be my righteousness,
The Lord for ever mine.

William Cowper

The New Convert.

The new-born child of gospel grace,
Like some fair tree when summers nigh,
Beneath Emmanuels shining face
Lifts up his blooming branch on high.


No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
No conflict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.


But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by day:
What seemd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.


When Gideon armd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, Lest Israel vainly boast,^[1]
My arm procured me this success.


Thus will he bring our spirits down,
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That, saved by grace, but not our own,

William Cowper