Society and the World

Where lies the land to which yon ship must go? Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day, Festively she puts forth in trim array.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room.

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires; My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty!

To check the erring, and reprove.

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life’s common way, In cheerful godliness.

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.

Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.

Once did she hold the gorgeous east in fee: And was the safeguard of the west.

Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.

Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty.

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!

I traveled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.

I traveled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.

One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother’s grave?

One great society alone on earth: The noble Living and the noble Dead.

But Europe at that time was thrilled with joy, France standing on the top of golden hours, And human nature seeming born again.

Of Newton with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.