If the time should ever come when what is now called Science, thus famliarised to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to the aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.

The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.

On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.

Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.

Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.