Olney Hymns, IX [The Contrite Heart]

1731 –

1800

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 that's 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.

Oh make this heart rejoice or ache;
     Decide this doubt for me; 
And if it be not broken, break—
     And heal it, if it be.

From Olney Hymns (1779) by William Cowper. This poem is in the public domain.

The Snail

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
Together.

William Cowper

1731

Epitaph on a Hare

Though duly from my hand he took
     His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
     And, when he could, would bite.

His diet was of wheaten bread,
     And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
     With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
     On pippins’ russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads failed,
     Sliced carrot pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
     Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
     And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
     For then he lost his fear

William Cowper

1783

The Task, Book II, A Time-Piece [excerpt]

     Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach me more! My ear is pained,
My soul is sick with every day's report
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart,
It does not feel for man.

William Cowper

1785

Poems

Olney Hymns, IX [The Contrite Heart]

More by this poet

The Snail

Epitaph on a Hare

The Task, Book II, A Time-Piece [excerpt]

Poems

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Olney Hymns, IX [The Contrite Heart]

More by this poet

The Snail

Epitaph on a Hare

The Task, Book II, A Time-Piece [excerpt]

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