William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

  Does not the word still fix’d remain,

  That none shall seek thy face in vain?

  That were a grief I could not bear,

  Didst thou not hear and answer prayer;

  But a prayer-hearing, answering God,

  Supports me under every load.

  Fair is the lot that’s cast for me;

  I have an Advocate with thee;

  They whom the world caresses most

  Have no such privilege to boast.

  Poor though I am, despised, forgot,

  Yet God, my God, forgets me not:

  And he is safe, and must succeed,

  For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.

  XXXIX. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

  My soul is sad, and much dismay’d,

  See, Lord, what legions of my foes,

  With fierce Apollyon at their head,

  My heavenly pilgrimage oppose!

  See, from the ever-burning lake

  How like a smoky cloud they rise!

  With horrid blasts my soul they shake,

  With storms of blasphemies and lies.

  Their fiery arrows reach the mark,

  My throbbing heart with anguish tear;

  Each lights upon a kindred spark,

  And finds abundant fuel there.

  I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord;

  Oh! I would drive it from my breast,

  With thy own sharp two-edged sword,

  Far as the east is from the west.

  Come, then, and chase the cruel host,

  Heal the deep wounds I have received!

  Nor let the powers of darkness boast,

  That I am foil’d, and thou art grieved!

  XL. PEACE AFTER A STORM.

  When darkness long has veil’d 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 art as ready to forgive

  As I am ready to repine;

  Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;

  Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.

  XLI. MOURNING AND LONGING.

  The Saviour hides his face!

  My spirit thirsts to prove

  Renew’d supplies of pardoning grace,

  And never-fading love.

  The favour’d 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 Sabbath’s 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 denied.

  Though I am but a worm,

  Unworthy of his care,

  The Lord will my desire perform,

  And grant me all my prayer.

  XLII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE.

  Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart,

  Which of itself complains,

  And mourns, with much and frequent smart,

  The evil it contains.

  There fiery seeds of anger lurk,

  Which often hurt my frame;

  And wait but for the tempter’s work,

  To fan them to a flame.

  Legality holds out a bribe

  To purchase life from thee;

  And discontent would fain prescribe

  How thou shalt deal with me.

  While unbelief withstands thy grace,

  And puts the mercy by;

  Presumption, with a brow of brass,

  Says, “Give me, or I die.”

  How eager are my thoughts to roam

  In quest of what they love!

  But ah! when duty calls them home,

  How heavily they move!

  Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour’s blood,

  Transform me by thy power,

  And make me thy beloved abode,

  And let me rove no more.

  XLIII. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE.

  Lord, who hast suffer’d 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,

  When the curst thing that Achan took

  Brought Israel into just disgrace.

  Perhaps some golden wedge suppress’d,

  Some secret sin offends my God;

  Perhaps that Babylonish vest,

  Self-righteousness, provokes the rod.

  Ah! were I buffeted all day,

  Mock’d, crown’d with thorns, and spit upon;

  I yet should have no right to say,

  My great distress is mine alone.

  Let me not angrily declare

  No pain was ever sharp like mine;

  Nor murmur at the cross I bear,

  But rather weep, remembering thine.

  XLIV. SUBMISSION.

  O Lord, my best desire fulfil,

  And help me to resign

  Life, health, and comfort to thy will,

  And make thy pleasure mine.

  Why should I shrink at thy command,

  Whose love forbids my fears?

  Or tremble at the gracious hand

  That wipes away my tears?

  No, let me rather freely yield

  What most I prize to thee;

  Who never hast a good withheld,

  Or wilt withhold, from me.

  Thy favour, all my journey through,

  Thou art engaged to grant;

  What else I want, or think I do,

  ’Tis better still to want.

  Wisdom and mercy guide my way,

  Shall I resist them both?

  A poor blind creature of a day,

  And crush’d before the moth!

  But ah! my inward spirit cries,

  Still bind me to thy sway;

  Else the next cloud that veils the skies,

  Drives all these thoughts away.

  XLV. THE HAPPY CHANGE.

  How blest thy creature is, O God,

  When, with a single eye,

  He views the lustre of thy word,

  The dayspring from on high!

  Through all the storms that veil the skies,

  And frown on earthly things,

  The Sun of Righteousness he eyes,

  With healing on his wings.

  Struck by that light, the human heart,

  A barren soil no more,

  Sends
the sweet smell of grace abroad,

  Where serpents lurk’d before.

  The soul a dreary province once

  Of Satan’s dark domain,

  Feels a new empire form’d within,

  And owns a heavenly reign.

  The glorious orb, whose golden beams

  The fruitful year control,

  Since first, obedient to thy word,

  He started from the goal;

  Has cheer’d the nations with the joys

  His orient rays impart;

  But, Jesus, ’tis thy light alone

  Can shine upon the heart.

  XLVI. RETIREMENT.

  Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,

  From strife and tumult far;

  From scenes where Satan wages still

  His most successful war.

  The calm retreat, the silent shade,

  With prayer and praise agree;

  And seem by thy sweet bounty made

  For those who follow thee.

  There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,

  And grace her mean abode,

  Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,

  She communes with her God!

  There like the nightingale she pours

  Her solitary lays;

  Nor asks a witness of her song,

  Nor thirsts for human praise.

  Author and Guardian of my life,

  Sweet source of light divine,

  And (all harmonious names in one)

  My Saviour, thou art mine!

  What thanks I owe thee, and what love,

  A boundless, endless store,

  Shall echo through the realms above

  When time shall be no more.

  XLVII. 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;

  Such honour may he give to you,

  For such have all his saints.

  XLVIII. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING.

  Sometimes a light surprises

  The Christian while he sings;

  It is the Lord who rises

  With healing in his wings:

  When comforts are declining,

  He grants the soul again

  A season of clear shining,

  To cheer it after rain.

  In holy contemplation,

  We sweetly then pursue

  The theme of God’s salvation,

  And find it ever new.

  Set free from present sorrow,

  We cheerfully can say,

  E’en let the unknown to-morrow

  Bring with it what it may.

  It can bring with it nothing,

  But he will bear us through;

  Who gives the lilies clothing,

  Will clothe his people too;

  Beneath the spreading heavens

  No creature but is fed;

  And he who feeds the ravens,

  Will give his children bread.

  The vine nor fig-tree neither

  Their wonted fruit should bear,

  Though all the fields should wither,

  Nor flocks nor herds be there:

  Yet God the same abiding,

  His praise shall tune my voice;

  For, while in him confiding,

  I cannot but rejoice.

  XLIX. TRUE PLEASURES.

  Lord, my soul with pleasure springs,

  When Jesus’ name I hear;

  And when God the Spirit brings

  The word of promise near:

  Beauties too, in holiness,

  Still delighted I perceive;

  Nor have words that can express

  The joys thy precepts give.

  Clothed in sanctity and grace,

  How sweet it is to see

  Those who love thee as they pass,

  Or when they wait on thee:

  Pleasant too, to sit and tell

  What we owe to love divine;

  Till our bosoms grateful swell,

  And eyes begin to shine.

  Those the comforts I possess,

  Which God shall still increase,

  All his ways are pleasantness,

  And all his paths are peace.

  Nothing Jesus did or spoke,

  Henceforth let me ever slight;

  For I love his easy yoke,

  And find his burden light.

  L. THE CHRISTIAN.

  Honour and happiness unite

  To make the Christian’s name a praise;

  How fair the scene, how clear the light,

  That fills the remnant of his days!

  A kingly character he bears,

  No change his priestly office knows;

  Unfading is the crown he wears,

  His joys can never reach a close.

  Adorn’d with glory from on high,

  Salvation shines upon his face;

  His robe is of the ethereal dye,

  His steps are dignity and grace.

  Inferior honours he disdains,

  Nor stoops to take applause from earth:

  The King of kings himself maintains

  The expenses of his heavenly birth.

  The noblest creature seen below,

  Ordain’d to fill a throne above;

  God gives him all he can bestow,

  His kingdom of eternal love.

  My soul is ravish’d at the thought!

  Methinks from earth I see him rise!

  Angels congratulate his lot,

  And shout him welcome to the skies!

  LI. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAR.

  I was a grovelling creature once,

  And basely cleaved to earth;

  I wanted spirit to renounce

  The clod that gave me birth.

  But God has breathed upon a worm,

  And sent me, from above,

  Wings such as clothe an angel’s form,

  The wings of joy and love.

  With these to Pisgah’s top I fly,

  And there delighted stand,

  To view beneath a shining sky

  The spacious promised land.

  The Lord of all the vast domain

  Has promised it to me;

  The length and breadth of all the plain,

  As far as faith can see.

  How glorious is my privilege!

  To thee for help I call;

  I stand upon a mountain’s edge,

  Oh save me, lest I fall!

  Though much exalted in the Lord,

  My strength is not my own;

  Then let me tremble at his word,

  And none shall cast me down.

  LII. FOR THE POOR.

  When Hagar found the bottle spent,

  And wept o’er Ishmael,

  A message from the Lord was sent

  To guide her to a well.

  Should not Elijah’s cake and cruse

  Convince us at this day,

  A gracious God will not refuse

  Provisions by the way?

  His saints and servants shall be fed,

  The promise is secur
e;

  “Bread shall be given them,” he has said,

  “Their water shall be sure.”

  Repasts far richer they shall prove,

  Than all earth’s dainties are;

  ’Tis sweet to taste a Saviour’s love,

  Though in the meanest fare.

  To Jesus then your trouble bring,

  Nor murmur at your lot;

  While you are poor and he is King,

  You shall not be forgot.

  LIII. 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 wean’d 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 Father’s eye,

  None proves less grateful to his care,

  Or yields him meaner fruit than I.

  LIV. LOVE CONSTRAINING TO OBEDIENCE.

  No strength of nature can suffice