Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/277

251 Their fair proportions; nor the blinder rage

Of bigot zeal madly to overturn;

And, if the desolating hand of war

Spare them, they shall continue to bestow—

Upon the thronged abodes of busy Men

(Depraved, and ever prone to fill their minds

Exclusively with transitory things)

An air and mien of dignified pursuit;

Of sweet civility—on rustic wilds.

—The Poet, fostering for his native land

Such hope, entreats that Servants may abound

Of those pure Altars worthy; Ministers

Detached from pleasure, to the love of gain

Superior, insusceptible of pride,

And by ambition's longings undisturbed;

Men, whose delight is where their duty leads

Or fixes them; whose least distinguished day

Shines with some portion of that heavenly lustre

Which makes the Sabbath lovely in the sight

Of blessed Angels, pitying human cares.

—And, as on earth it is the doom of Truth

To be perpetually attacked by foes

Open or covert, be that Priesthood still,