To unorganic ratures were transferred
  My own enjoyments; or the power of truth
  Coming in revelation, did converse
  With things that really are; I, at this time,
  Saw blessings spread around me like a sea. 395
  Thus while the days flew by, and years passed on,
  From Nature and her overflowing soul,
  I had received so much, that all my thoughts
  Were steeped in feeling; I was only then
  Contented, when with bliss ineffable 400
  I felt the sentiment of Being spread
  O’er all that moves and all that seemeth still;
  O’er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought
  And human knowledge, to the human eye
  Invisible, yet liveth to the heart; 405
  O’er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and sings,
  Or beats the gladsome air; o’er all that glides
  Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself,
  And mighty depth of waters.  Wonder not
  If high the transport, great the joy I felt, 410
  Communing in this sort through earth and heaven
  With every form of creature, as it looked
  Towards the Uncreated with a countenance
  Of adoration, with an eye of love. 
  One song they sang, and it was audible, 415
  Most audible, then, when the fleshly ear,
  O’ercome by humblest prelude of that strain,
  Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed.

    If this be error, and another faith
  Find easier access to the pious mind, 420
  Yet were I grossly destitute of all
  Those human sentiments that make this earth
  So dear, if I should fail with grateful voice
  To speak of you, ye mountains, and ye lakes
  And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds 425
  That dwell among the hills where I was born. 
  If in my youth I have been pure in heart,
  If, mingling with the world, I am content
  With my own modest pleasures, and have lived
  With God and Nature communing, removed 430
  From little enmities and low desires,
  The gift is yours; if in these times of fear,
  This melancholy waste of hopes o’erthrown,
  If, ’mid indifference and apathy,
  And wicked exultation when good men 435
  On every side fall off, we know not how,
  To selfishness, disguised in gentle names
  Of peace and quiet and domestic love,
  Yet mingled not unwillingly with sneers
  On visionary minds; if, in this time 440
  Of dereliction and dismay, I yet
  Despair not of our nature, but retain
  A more than Roman confidence, a faith
  That fails not, in all sorrow my support,
  The blessing of my life; the gift is yours, 445
  Ye winds and sounding cataracts! ’tis