Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/309

301 Behold a record which together binds

Past deeds and offices of charity,

Else unremembered, and so keeps alive

The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years,

And that half-wisdom half-experience gives,

Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign

To selfishness and cold oblivious cares.

Among the farms and solitary huts,

Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages,

Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds,

The mild necessity of use compels

To acts of love; and habit does the work

Of reason; yet prepares that after joy

Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul,

By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued,

Doth find itself insensibly disposed

To virtue and true goodness. Some there are,

By their good works exalted, lofty minds

And meditative, authors of delight

And happiness, which to the end of time

Will live, and spread, and kindle; minds like these,

In childhood, from this solitary Being,

This helpless Wanderer, have perchance received

(A thing more precious far than all that books