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Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail hu-

manity!

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Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds 45
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through

Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend 50
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy bondman let

me live!

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serene.

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yet wise

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So pure the sky, so quiet was the air; So once it would have been,

'tis so no So like, so very like, was day to day!

more; Whene'er I looked, thy image still was I have submitted to a new control: there;

A power is gone, which nothing can It trembled, but it never passed away.

store;

A deep distress hath humanized my soul. How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep;

Not for a moment could I now behold No mood which season takes away or

A smiling sea, and be what I have been: brings:

The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; I could have fancied that the mighty This, which I know, I speak with mind

Deep
Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.

Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have

been the friend, Ah! then, if mine had been the painter's

If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, hand,

This work of thine I blame not, but comTo express what then I saw; and add the

mend; gleam,

This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. The light that never

was, on land,

Oh, 'tis a passionate work! The consecration and the poet's dream;

and well,

Well chosen is the spirit that is here; I would have planted thee, thou hoary That hulk which labors in the deadly Pile!

swell, Amid a world how different from this! This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! Beside a

sea that could not smile;

And this huge castle, standing here subOn tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss, 20 lime,

I love to

see the look with which it Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure

braves, house divine

Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time, Of peaceful years;

chronicle of

The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampheaven;

ling waves. Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine The very sweetest had to thee been given.

Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives

alone,

Housed in a dream, at distance from the A picture had it been of lasting ease,

Kind! Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; Such happiness, wherever it be known, 55 No motion but the moving tide, a breeze,

Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, And frequent sights of what is to be Such picture would I at that time have borne! made:

Such sights, or worse, as are before me And seen the soul of truth in every part;

here. A steadfast peace that might not be be Not without hope we suffer and we

trayed.

cease

to

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mourn.

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There was a time when meadow, grove,

and stream, The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 It is not now as it hath been of yore;

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can

IV

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Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the

call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you

in

your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal,

40 The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it

all.
Oh evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,

This sweet May-morning,
And the children are culling

On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh Aowers; while the sun shines

warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother's

arm:-
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!

But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have looked

upon, Both of them speak of something that is

gone:
The pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now the glory and the

dream?

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III

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous

song, And while the young lambs bound 20

As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of

grief: A timely utterance gave that thought re

lief,
And I again am strong:

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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The soul that rises with us, our life's star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it

flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the

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Some fragrant from his dream of human

life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;

wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral;

And this hath now his heart, 95 And unto this he frames his song:

Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,

And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his "humorous

stage" With all the persons, down to palsied

Age,
That Life brings with her in her equi-

page;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.

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east

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Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away, 75
And fade into the light of common day.

VIII

VI

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her

own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural

kind, And, even with something of a mother's

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mind,

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And no unworthy aim,

The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate Man,

Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came.

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Thou, whose exterior semblance doth be

lie Thy soul's immensity; Thou best philosopher, who yet dost

keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the Eternal

Deep, Haunted for ever by the Eternal Mind,

Mighty prophet! seer blest!

On whom those truths do rest Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the

grave; Thou, over whom thy immortality Broods like the Day, a master o'er a

slave, A presence which is not to be put by; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the

might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's

height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou

provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke,

VII

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Behold the Child among his new-born

blisses, A six years' darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he

lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's

eyes!

See, at his feet, some little plan or

chart,

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O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers

What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me

doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be

blest Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still Auttering in

his breast:
Not for these I raise

The song of thanks and praise; 140
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;

Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realised, 145
High instincts before which our Mortal

Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:

But for those first affections,

Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to

make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the Eternal Silence: truths that

wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad en

deavor,
Nor man nor boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!

Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous

song!
And let the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts today

Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once

so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the

hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the

flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind; 180
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through

death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.

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