William, Champion of "Yet".

Since I learned about William Cowper five or six years ago, I have wondered how much we might be kindred spirits. He battled severe depression for many years of his life but wrote the most beautifully arresting poetry in praise of God, and in bold declaration of Jesus' saving work.

He could extol brilliantly and could help stir others to worship, but for most of his life Cowper felt unable to own, or imbibe the truth himself. From what little I've read about him, this seems like torture. But author George M. Ella insists poignantly that, "Cowper kept his Evangelical faith until his dying day, whatever his assurance."

There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel's veins

And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.

I'm hoping in the next little while to learn much more about him, not as if I'm searching for the "secret" to balancing crippling darkness with worshipping God and leading a productive life. I know the secret. It's just nice to see someone else execute, is all. Maybe what I'm describing is "encouragement", ha. As George Ella put it, "Even in 1792 when most of his commentators portray Cowper as being in absolute spiritual darkness, we find Cowper still writing poetry and still doing it to the glory of God." And then he provides a relevant example of the poet's work:

  'Tis judgment shakes him; there’s the fear, 
  That prompts his wish to stay:
  He has incurr’d a long arrear, 
  And must despair to pay.

  Pay!--follow CHRIST, and all is paid:
  His death your peace ensures:
  Think on the grave where he was laid,
  And calm descend to yours. 

William Cowper: the man of God’s stamp: a bicentenary evaluation, vindication, and appreciation.George M. Ella © 2000 by Joshua Press Inc.

If I understand correctly, Cowper thought about death often, looking to it as escape from his turmoil. And in a sense, he's right to long to leave this world. Romans 8 tells us that all of creation is groaning (read: wordlessly grunting its unbearable ache) as it awaits Jesus' return. It's a rotten, scummy world we live in and it's a rotten scummy heart sitting behind my ribcage.

The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day

And there may I, though vile as he, wash all my sins away.

Dear, dying Lamb, Thy precious blood shall never lose its pow'r

Til all the ransomed church of God be saved to sin no more.

But aside from jettisoning his own sin and the sinful world, I suppose Cowper was also longing to be relieved of his inner anguish, the weight of depression and the apparent inability to grasp God's truth and comfort. I understand this, too. How many times I have cried out somewhat angrily, "Why can't I see You?" or, "Where are You?". I know (intellectually) that He's there. But why isn't He (manifest) HERE? It's so painful to know His goodness as only a shadow through a dark glass. Return, Lord Jesus.

 E'er since by faith I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply

Redeeming love has been my theme and shall be til I die.

We stumble through and find a way. We find a way to come back, holding tightly to that wee thread of faith, on a tiny life-raft of grace. We declare that we shall persevere, and it's not true because our cracked, weak voice spoke it but because Redeeming Love has been our theme, and He is our strength.

When this poor lisping, stamm'ring tongue lies silent in the grave,

Then in a nobler, sweeter song I'll sing Thy pow'r to save.