William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

  Avoid his arts, forsake the beach,

  And never play within his reach.

  My soul her bondage ill endures;

  I pant for liberty like yours;

  I long for that immense profound,

  That knows no bottom and no bound:

  Lost in infinity, to prove

  The incomprehensible of love.

  Ye birds, that lessen as ye fly,

  And vanish in the distant sky;

  To whom yon airy waste belongs,

  Resounding with your cheerful songs;

  Haste to escape from human sight;

  Fear less the vulture and the kite.

  How blest and how secure am I,

  When, quitting earth, I soar on high;

  When lost, like you I disappear,

  And float in a sublimer sphere;

  Whence falling, within human view,

  I am ensnared and caught like you!

  Omniscient God, whose notice deigns,

  To try the heart and search the reins,

  Compassionate the numerous woes,

  I dare not, e’en to thee, disclose;

  O save me from the cruel hands

  Of men who fear not thy commands!

  Love, all-subduing and divine,

  Care for a creature truly thine;

  Reign in a heart, disposed to own

  No sovereign but thyself alone;

  Cherish a bride who cannot rove,

  Nor quit thee for a meaner love!

  The Vicissitudes Experienced in the Christian Life

  I suffer fruitless anguish day by day,

  Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;

  Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,

  And see no end of all that I sustain.

  The more I strive the more I am withstood;

  Anxiety increasing every hour

  My spirit finds no rest, performs no good,

  And nought remains of all my former power.

  My peace of heart is fled, I know not where;

  My happy hours, like shadows, pass’d away;

  Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care;

  Night darker seems, succeeding such a day.

  Dear faded joys and impotent regret,

  What profit is there in incessant tears?

  Oh thou, whom, once beheld, we ne’er forget,

  Reveal thy love, and banish all my fears!

  Alas! he flies me — treats me as his foe,

  Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead;

  Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe,

  Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed.

  Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive;

  My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires

  And, while in terrors of thy wrath I live,

  Hell seems to loose it less tremendous fires.

  Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear,

  So thy severe displeasure might subside?

  Hopeless of ease, I seem already there,

  My life extinguish’d, and yet death denied.

  Is this the joy so promised — this the love,

  The unchanging love, so sworn in better days?

  Ah! dangerous glories! shewn me, but to prove

  How lovely thou, and I how rash to gaze.

  Why did I see them? had I still remain’d

  Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art,

  My humbler wishes I had soon obtain’d,

  Nor known the torments of a doubting heart.

  Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires,

  Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain

  Dubious and uninform’d, my soul inquires,

  Ought she to cherish or shake off her pain?

  Suffering, I suffer not — sincerely love,

  Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame;

  As chance inclines me, unconcern’d I move,

  All times, and all events, to me the same.

  I search my heart, and not a wish is there

  But burns with zeal that hated self may fall;

  Such is the sad disquietude I share,

  A sea of doubts, and self the source of all.

  I ask not life, nor do I wish to die;

  And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure,

  I would not purchase with a single sigh

  A free discharge from all that I endure.

  I groan in chains, yet want not a release;

  Am sick, and know not the distemper’d part;

  Am just as void of purpose as of peace;

  Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart.

  My claim to life, though sought with earnest care,

  No light within me, or without me, shews;

  Once I had faith, but now in self-despair

  Find my chief cordial and my best repose.

  My soul is a forgotten thing; she sinks,

  Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise;

  Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks

  Her name erased for ever from the skies.

  Language affords not my distress a name, —

  Yet it is real and no sickly dream;

  ’Tis love inflicts it; though to feel that flame

  Is all I know of happiness supreme.

  When love departs, a chaos wide and vast,

  And dark as hell, is open’d in the soul;

  When love returns, the gloomy scene is past,

  No tempests shake her, and no fears control.

  Then tell me why these ages of delay?

  Oh love, all-excellent, once more appear;

  Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day,

  From this abyss of night, these floods of fear!

  No — love is angry, will not now endure

  A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint;

  He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure;

  Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint.

  He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow;

  He flies, he re-appears, and wounds again —

  Was ever heart that loved thee treated so?

  Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain.

  And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind,

  Thou didst distinguish and vouchsafe to choose,

  Before thy laws were written in my mind,

  While yet the world had all my thoughts and views?

  Now leave me, when, enamour’d of thy laws,

  I make thy glory my supreme delight?

  Now blot me from thy register, and cause

  A faithful soul to perish from thy sight?

  What can have caused the change which I deplore?

  Is it to prove me, if my heart be true?

  Permit me then, while prostrate I adore,

  To draw, and place its picture in thy view.

  ’Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine;

  So given to thee, that it is not my own;

  A willing captive of thy grace divine;

  And loves, and seeks thee, for thyself alone.

  Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare;

  Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust;

  It loves thee, e’en when least inclined to spare

  Its tenderest feelings, and avows thee just.

  ’Tis all thine own; my spirit is so too,

  An undivided offering at thy shrine;

  It seeks thy glory with no double view,

  Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine.

  Love, holy love! and art thou not severe,

  To slight me, thus devoted, and thus fix’d?

  Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear

  From all self-bias, generous and unmix’d.

  But I am silent, seeing what I see —

  And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceived,

  Not e’en my faith is from suspicion free,

  And that I love seems not to be believed.

  Live
thou, and reign for ever, glorious Lord!

  My last, least offering I present thee now —

  Renounce me, leave me, and be still adored!

  Slay me, my God, and I applaud the blow.

  Watching unto God in the Night Season

  Sleep at last has fled these eyes,

  Nor do I regret his flight,

  More alert my spirits rise,

  And my heart is free and light.

  Nature silent all around,

  Not a single witness near;

  God as soon as sought is found;

  And the flame of love burns clear.

  Interruption, all day long,

  Checks the current of my joys;

  Creatures press me with a throng,

  And perplex me with their noise.

  Undisturb’d I muse all night,

  On the first Eternal Fair;

  Nothing there obstructs delight,

  Love is renovated there.

  Life, with its perpetual stir,

  Proves a foe to love and me;

  Fresh entanglements occur —

  Comes the night, and sets me free.

  Never more, sweet sleep, suspend

  My enjoyments, always new:

  Leave me to possess my friend;

  Other eyes and hearts subdue.

  Hush the world, that I may wake

  To the taste of pure delights;

  Oh the pleasures I partake —

  God, the partner of my nights!

  David, for the selfsame cause,

  Night preferr’d to busy day;

  Hearts whom heavenly beauty draws,

  Wish the glaring sun away.

  Sleep, self-lovers, is for you —

  Souls that love celestial know

  Fairer scenes by night can view

  Than the sun could ever show.

  On the Same

  Season of my purest pleasure,

  Sealer of observing eyes!

  When, in larger, freer measure,

  I can commune with the skies;

  While, beneath thy shade extended,

  Weary man forgets his woes,

  I, my daily trouble ended,

  Find, in watching, my repose.

  Silence all around prevailing,

  Nature hush’d in slumber sweet,

  No rude noise mine ears assailing,

  Now my God and I can meet:

  Universal nature slumbers,

  And my soul partakes the calm,

  Breathes her ardour out in numbers,

  Plaintive song or lofty psalm.

  Now my passion, pure and holy,

  Shines and burns without restraint;

  Which the day’s fatigue and folly

  Cause to languish, dim and faint:

  Charming hours of relaxation!

  How I dread the ascending sun!

  Surely, idle conversation

  Is an evil match’d by none.

  Worldly prate and babble hurt me;

  Unintelligible prove;

  Neither teach me nor divert me;

  I have ears for none but love.

  Me they rude esteem, and foolish,

  Hearing my absurd replies;

  I have neither art’s fine polish,

  Nor the knowledge of the wise.

  Simple souls, and unpolluted

  By conversing with the great,

  Have a mind and taste ill suited

  To their dignity and state;

  All their talking, reading, writing,

  Are but talents misapplied;

  Infants’ prattle I delight in,

  Nothing human choose beside.

  ’Tis the secret fear of sinning

  Checks my tongue, or I should say,

  When I see the night beginning,

  I am glad of parting day:

  Love this gentle admonition

  Whispers soft within my breast;

  “Choice befits not thy condition,

  Acquiescence suits thee best.”

  Henceforth, the repose and pleasure

  Night affords me I resign;

  And thy will shall be the measure,

  Wisdom infinite! of mine:

  Wishing is but inclination

  Quarrelling with thy decrees;

  Wayward nature finds the occasion —

  ’Tis her folly and disease.

  Night, with its sublime enjoyments,

  Now no longer will I choose;

  Nor the day, with its employments,

  Irksome as they seem, refuse;

  Lessons of a God’s inspiring

  Neither time nor place impedes;

  From our wishing and desiring

  Our unhappiness proceeds.

  On the Same

  Night! how I love thy silent shades,

  My spirits they compose;

  The bliss of heaven my soul pervades,

  In spite of all my woes.

  While sleep instils her poppy dews

  In every slumbering eye,

  I watch to meditate and muse,

  In blest tranquillity.

  And when I feel a God immense

  Familiarly impart,

  With every proof he can dispense,

  His favour to my heart;

  My native meanness I lament,

  Though most divinely fill’d

  With all the ineffable content

  That Deity can yield.

  His purpose and his course he keeps;

  Treads all my reasonings down;

  Commands me out of nature’s deeps,

  And hides me in his own.

  When in the dust, its proper place,

  Our pride of heart we lay;

  ’Tis then a deluge of his grace

  Bears all our sins away.

  Thou whom I serve, and whose I am,

  Whose influence from on high

  Refines, and still refines my flame,

  And makes my fetters fly;

  How wretched is the creature’s state

  Who thwarts thy gracious power;

  Crush’d under sin’s enormous weight,

  Increasing every hour!

  The night, when pass’d entire with thee,

  How luminous and clear!

  Then sleep has no delights for me,

  Lest thou should’st disappear.

  My Saviour! occupy me still

  In this secure recess;

  Let reason slumber if she will,

  My joy shall not be less.

  Let reason slumber out the night;

  But if thou deign to make

  My soul the abode of truth and light,

  Ah, keep my heart awake!

  The Joy of the Cross

  Long plunged in sorrow, I resign

  My soul to that dear hand of thine,

  Without reserve or fear;

  That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes;

  Or into smiles of glad surprise

  Transform the falling tear.

  My sole possession is thy love;

  In earth beneath, or heaven above,

  I have no other store;

  And, though with fervent suit I pray,

  And importune thee night and day,

  I ask thee nothing more.

  My rapid hours pursue the course

  Prescribed them by love’s sweetest force,

  And I thy sovereign will,

  Without a wish to escape my doom;

  Though still a sufferer from the womb,

  And doom’d to suffer still.

  By thy command, where’er I stray,

  Sorrow attends me all my way,

  A never-failing friend;

  And, if my sufferings may augment

  Thy praise, behold me well content —

  Let sorrow still attend!

  It cost me no regret, that she,

  Who follow’d Christ, should follow me,

  And though, where’er she goes,

  Thorns spring spontaneo
us at her feet,

  I love her, and extract a sweet

  From all my bitter woes.

  Adieu! ye vain delights of earth,

  Insipid sports, and childish mirth,

  I taste no sweets in you;

  Unknown delights are in the cross,

  All joy beside to me is dross;

  And Jesus thought so too.

  The cross! Oh, ravishment and bliss —

  How grateful e’en its anguish is;

  Its bitterness how sweet!

  There every sense, and all the mind,

  In all her faculties refined,

  Tastes happiness complete.

  Souls once enabled to disdain

  Base sublunary joys, maintain

  Their dignity secure;

  The fever of desire is pass’d,

  And love has all its genuine taste,

  Is delicate and pure.

  Self-love no grace in sorrow sees,

  Consults her own peculiar ease;

  ’Tis all the bliss she knows;

  But nobler aims true Love employ;

  In self-denial is her joy,

  In suffering her repose.

  Sorrow and love go side by side;

  Nor height nor depth can e’er divide

  Their heaven-appointed bands;

  Those dear associates still are one,

  Nor till the race of life is run

  Disjoin their wedded hands.

  Jesus, avenger of our fall,

  Thou faithful lover, above all

  The cross has ever borne!

  Oh, tell me, — life is in thy voice —

  How much afflictions were thy choice,

  And sloth and ease thy scorn!

  Thy choice and mine shall be the same,

  Inspirer of that holy flame

  Which must for ever blaze!

  To take the cross and follow thee,