They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.

Thought would destroy their paradise.

The time will come, when thou shalt lift thine eyes To watch a long-drawn battle in the skies. While aged peasants, too amazed for words, Stare at the flying fleets of wondrous birds.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument.

Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.