Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice

In admonitions of thy softest voice!

Whate'er the path these mortal feet may trace,
Breathe through my soul the blessing of thy grace,
Glad through a perfect love, a faith sincere

Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear;
Glad to expand, and for a season, free

From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee."

At the close of the Excursion is the following sublime address to the Deity. It deserves a place along with Milton's, Thomson's, and Derzhaven's. It speaks to the

inmost soul.

"Eternal Spirit! universal God

Power inaccessible to human thought

Save by degrees and steps which Thou hast deigned
To furnish! for this Image of Thyself,

To the infirmity of mortal sense

Vouchsafed, — this local, transitory type

Of thy paternal splendors, and the pomp
Of those who fill thy courts in highest heaven,
The radiant Cherubim, accept the thanks

Which we, thy humble creatures, here convened,
Presume to offer; we, who, from the breast

Of the frail earth permitted to behold

The faint reflections only of thy face,

Are yet exalted, and in soul adore.

Such as they are, who in thy presence stand
Unsullied, incorruptible, and drink
Imperishable majesty streamed forth
From thy empyreal Throne, the elect of earth
Shall be, divested at the appointed hour
Of all dishonor, cleansed from mortal stain.
Accomplish, then, their number; and conclude
Time's weary course! Or if, by thy decree

The consummation that will come by stealth
Be yet far distant, let thy Word prevail,
Oh! let thy Word prevail, to take away
The sting of human nature. Spread the Law,
As it is written in thy holy Book,

Throughout all lands: let every nation hear
The high behest, and every heart obey;
Both for the love of purity, and hope,
Which it affords to such as do thy will,
And persevere in good, that they shall rise,
To have a nearer view of Thee, in heaven.
Father of Good! this prayer in bounty grant,
In mercy grant it to thy wretched sons.
Then, nor till then, shall persecution cease,
And cruel wars expire. The way is marked,
The guide appointed, and the ransom paid.
Alas! the nations, who of yore received
These tidings, and in Christian temples meet
The sacred truth to acknowledge, linger still;
Preferring bonds and darkness to a state
Of holy freedom, by redeeming love
Proffered to all, while yet on earth detained.
So fare the many; and the thoughtful few,
Who in the anguish of their souls bewail
This dire perverseness, cannot choose but ask,
Shall it endure? Shall enmity and strife,
Falsehood and guile, be left to sow their seed,
And the kind never perish? Is the hope
Fallacious, or shall righteousness obtain
A peaceable dominion, wide as earth,

And ne'er to fail? Shall that blest day arrive
When they, whose choice or lot it is to dwell
In crowded cities, without fear shall live

Studious of mutual benefit; and he,

Whom morning wakes, among sweet dews and flowers

Of every clime, to till the lonely field,
Be happy in himself? The law of faith,
Working through love, such conquest shall it gain,
Such triumph over sin and guilt achieve?
Almighty Lord, thy further grace impart !
And with that help the wonder shall be seen
Fulfilled, the hope accomplished; and thy praise
Be sung with transport and unceasing joy.

"Whence but from Thee, the true and only God, And from the faith derived through Him who bled Upon the cross, this marvellous advance

Of good from evil; as if one extreme

Were left,

the other gained? O ye, who come To kneel devoutly in yon reverend pile,

Called to such office by the peaceful sound
Of Sabbath bells; and ye, who sleep in earth,
All cares forgotten, round its hallowed walls!
For

you, in presence of this little band

Gathered together on the green hill-side,

Your pastor is emboldened to prefer

Vocal thanksgivings to the Eternal King;

Whose love, whose counsel, whose commands, have made

Your very poorest rich in peace of thought

And in good works; and him, who is endowed
With scantiest knowledge, master of all truth

Which the salvation of his soul requires.
Conscious of that abundant favor showered

On you, the children of my humble care,
On your abodes, and this beloved land,

Our birthplace, home, and country, while on earth
We sojourn, — loudly do I utter thanks

With earnest joy, that will not be suppressed.
These barren rocks, your stern inheritance;
These fertile fields that recompense your pains;

The shadowy vale, the sunny mountain-top;
Woods waving in the wind their lofty heads,
Or hushed; the roaring waters, or the still;
They see the offering of my lifted hands:
They hear my lips present their sacrifice :
They know if I be silent, morn or even :
For, though in whispers speaking, the full heart
Will find a vent; and thought is praise to Him,
Audible praise to Thee, Omniscient Mind,

From whom all gifts descend, all blessings flow!"'

Very few poets are more practical than Wordsworth. His pages are crowded with sententious maxims, with clear, compact, and beautifully expressed truths. We will take a few at random.

"O Sir! the good die first; And they, whose hearts are dry as summer dust, Burn to the socket."

"But know we not that he, who intermits
The appointed task and duties of the day,
Untunes full oft the pleasures of the day,
Checking the finer spirits that refuse

To flow, when purposes are lightly changed?"

"The food of hope

Is meditated action; robbed of this,

Her sole support, she languishes and dies."

That man descends into the VALE of years;

Yet have I thought that we might also speak,
And not presumptuously, I trust, of age,

As of a final EMINENCE, though bare
In aspect, and forbidding, yet a point
On which 't is not impossible to sit

“ The primal duties shine aloft, like stars;
The charities, that soothe, and heal, and bless,
Are scattered at the feet of man, like flowers."

"Say, what is honor? 'T is the finest sense

Of justice which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence
Suffered or done."

"Sweetest melodies

Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes,
He is a slave: the meanest we can meet !

Our limits forbid us to proceed further. The task is pleasant, and we have not known where to stop, or what to extract. Our copy of the Excursion is full of pencillings. Then there are the "Brothers," "Ode on the Intimations of Immortality from the Recollections of Childhood,” “Ode to Duty," several of the "Sonnets to Liberty," and the "Evening Voluntaries," in the last volume; all of these we should have been glad to copy. It is truly refreshing to read such poetry. It calms the spirit, and fills it with