But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn
A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow
Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.