The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

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

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

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.

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.