Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/210

184 That we should pry far off yet be unraised;

That we should pore, and dwindle as we pore,

Viewing all objects unremittingly

In disconnection dead and spiritless;

And still dividing, and dividing still,

Break down all grandeur, still unsatisfied

With the perverse attempt, while littleness

May yet become more little; waging thus

An impious warfare with the very life

Of our own Souls!—And if indeed there be

An all-pervading Spirit, upon whom

Our dark foundations rest, could He design,

Or will his rites and services permit,

That this magnificent effect of Power,

The Earth we tread, the Sky which we behold

By day, and all the pomp which night reveals,

That these—and that superior Mystery

Our vital Frame, so fearfully devised,

And the dread Soul within it—should exist

Only to be examined, pondered, searched,

Probed, vexed, and criticised?—Accuse me not

Of arrogance, unknown Wanderer as I am,

If, having walked with Nature threescore years,