Quote

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.

William Wordsworth

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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Names
Heads
Working
Instrument
Men
Awful
Instruments
Laud
Thee
Magnify
God
Intent
Pure
Bows
Name
Almighty

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A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.
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And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
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Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is passed away.
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
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A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
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The moving accident is not my trade To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
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Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination.
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The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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While all the future, for thy purer soul, With sober certainties of love is blest.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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There is creation in the eye.
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My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began So is it now I am a man.
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Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.
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