The Narrow Way.

What thousands never knew the road!
What thousands hate it when tis known!
None but the chosen tribes of God
Will seek or choose it for their own.


A thousand ways in ruin end,
One, only, leads to joys on high;
By that my willing steps ascend,
Pleased with a journey to the sky.


No more I ask, or hope to find,
Delight or happiness below;
Sorrow may well possess the mind
That feeds where thorns and thistles grow.


The joy that fades is not for me,
I seek immortal joys above;
There glory without end shall be
The bright reward of faith and love.


Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms,
Contented lick your native dust,
But God shall fight with all his storms
Against the idol of your trust.

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

The House Of Prayer. - Mark xi.17.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Cock-Fighters Garland.[1]

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Dog And The Water Lily. No Fable.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

To William Hayley, Esq.

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.

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

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

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

My Soul Thirsteth For God.

I thirst, but not as once I did,
The vain delights of earth to share;
Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid
That I should seek my pleasures there.


It was the sight of thy dear cross
First weand my soul from earthly things;
And taught me to esteem as dross
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings.


I want that grace that springs from thee,
That quickens all things where it flows,
And makes a wretched thorn like me
Bloom as the myrtle or the rose.


Dear fountain of delight unknown!
No longer sink below the brim;
But over flow, and pour me down
A living and life-giving stream!


For sure, of all the plants that share
The notice of thy Fathers eye,
None proves less grateful to his care,
Or yields him meaner fruit...

William Cowper

The Narrow Way

Believe not those who say
The upward path is smooth,
Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way,
And faint before the truth.

It is the only road
Unto the realms of joy;
But he who seeks that blest abode
Must all his powers employ.

Bright hopes and pure delight
Upon his course may beam,
And there, amid the sternest heights,
The sweetest flowerets gleam.

On all her breezes borne,
Earth yields no scents like those;
But he that dares not gasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose.

Arm--arm thee for the fight!
Cast useless loads away;
Watch through the darkest hours of night;
Toil through the hottest day.

Crush pride into the dust,
Or thou must needs be slack;
And trample down rebellious lust,
Or it will h...

Anne Bronte

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