Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.

One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.