Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?

The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk; and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."