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Evil, like a rolling stone upon a mountain-top,
spheres. Why win we not at once what we in prayer require ? That we may learn great things as greatly to desire. The tasks, the joys of earth, the same in heaven will
Only the little brook has widened to a sea.
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. - Wordsworth.
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 316
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY.
The rainbow comes and goes,
The moon doth with delight
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And I again am strong:
And all the earth is gay ;
Land and sea
And with the heart of May
Thou child of joy,
Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your
bilee ; My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
O evil day! if I were sullen,
This sweet May-morning,
On every side,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And he babe leaps up on his mother's arm:
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
But there 's a tree, of many one,
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?
Qur birth is but a sleep and a forgetting :
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar :
And not in utter nakedness,
From God, who is our home :
Upon the growing boy ;
He sees it in his joy ;
Must travel, stilt is Nature's priest,
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY.
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended ;
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 mind,
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.
Behold the child among his new-born blisses,
A wedding or a festival,
And this hath now his heart,
song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife ;
But it will not be long,
And with new joy and pride
Filling from time to time his humorous stage
As if his whole vocation
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
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, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strise ? Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight I leavy as frost, and deep almost as life !
O, joy! that in our embers