Jesus Hasting To Suffer.

The Saviour, what a noble flame
Was kindled in his breast,
When hasting to Jerusalem,
He marchd before the rest.


Good-will to men and zeal for God
His every thought engross;
He longs to be baptized with blood,^[1]
He pants to reach the cross!


With all his sufferings full in view,
And woes to us unknown,
Forth to the task his spirit flew;
Twas love that urged him on.


Lord, we return thee what we can:
Our hearts shall sound abroad
Salvation to the dying Man,
And to the rising God!


And while thy bleeding glories here
Engage our wondering eyes,
We learn our lighter cross to bear,
And hasten to the skies.

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

Song. On Peace.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

On The Burning Of Lord Mansfields Library, Together With His Mss., By The Mob, In The Month Of June 1780.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Verses, Supposed To Be Written By Alexander Selkirk, During His Solitary Abode In The Island Of Juan Fernandez.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

To The Nightingale, Which The Author Heard Sing On New Years Day.

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.

Longing To Be With Christ.

To Jesus, the Crown of my hope,
My soul is in haste to be gone:
O bear me, ye cherubim, up,
And waft me away to his throne!


My Saviour, whom absent I love,
Whom, not having seen, I adore;
Whose name is exalted above
All glory, dominion, and power;


Dissolve thou these bonds, that detain
My soul from her portion in thee;
Ah! strike off this adamant chain,
And make me eternally free.


When that happy era begins,
When arrayd in thy glories I shine,
Nor grieve any more, by my sins,
The bosom on which I recline:


Oh, then shall the veil be removed,
And round me thy brightness be pourd;
I shall meet him whom absent I loved,
I shall see whom unseen I adored.


And then, never more shall the ...

William Cowper

Mourning And Longing.

The Saviour hides his face!
My spirit thirsts to prove
Renewd supplies of pardoning grace,
And never-fading love.


The favourd souls who know
What glories shine in him,
Pant for his presence as the roe
Pants for the living stream!


What trifles tease me now!
They swarm like summer flies,
They cleave to everything I do,
And swim before my eyes.


How dull the Sabbath-day,
Without the Sabbaths Lord!
How toilsome then to sing and pray,
And wait upon the word!


Of all the truths I hear,
How few delight my taste!
I glean a berry here and there,
But mourn the vintage past.


Yet let me (as I ought)
Still hope to be supplied;
No pleasure else is worth a thought,
Nor shall I be ...

William Cowper

The Waiting Soul.

Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
And call the spices forth!


I wish, thou knowst, to be resignd,
And wait with patient hope;
But hope delayd fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirit up.


Help me to reach the distant goal,
Confirm my feeble knee;
Pity the sickness of a soul
That faints for love of thee.


Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
Yet, since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
Within, however low.


I seem forsaken and alone,
I hear the lion roar;
And evry door is shut but one,
And that is mercys door.


There, till the dear Delivrer come,
Ill wait with humble prayr;
An when he call...

William Cowper

The Hidden Life.

To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise him when he grants
Beyond what I can ask.


My labouring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy;
With how much tenderness he speaks,
And helps me to reply.


Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;
Like precious wines, their tastes they lose,
Exposed to open air.


But this with boldness I proclaim,
Nor care if thousands hear,
Sweet is the ointment of his name,
Not life is half so dear.


And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was;
And blame the song that thus commends
The Man who bore the cross?


Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints;

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

A Tale, Founded On A Fact, Which Happened In January 1779.

Where Humber pours his rich commercial stream
There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to blaspheme;
In subterraneous caves his life he led,
Black as the mine in which he wrought for bread.
When on a day, emerging from the deep,
A Sabbath-day (such Sabbaths thousands keep!),
The wages of his weekly toil he bore
To buy a cockwhose blood might win him more;
As if the noblest of the featherd kind
Were but for battle and for death designd;
As if the consecrated hours were meant
For sport, to minds on cruelty intent;
It chanced (such chances Providence obey)
He met a fellow-labourer on the way,
Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed;
But now the savage temper was reclaimd,
Persuasion on his lips had taken place;
For all plead well who plead the cause...

William Cowper