Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/414

388 Whate'er exists hath properties that spread

Beyond itself, communicating good,

A simple blessing, or with evil mixed;

Spirit that knows no insulated spot,

No chasm, no solitude; from link to link

It circulates, the Soul of all the Worlds.

This is the freedom of the Universe;

Unfolded still the more, more visible,

The more we know; and yet is reverenced least,

And least respected, in the human Mind,

Its most apparent home. The food of hope

Is meditated action; robbed of this,

Her sole support, she languishes and dies.

We perish also; for we live by hope

And by desire; we see by the glad light,

And breathe the sweet air of futurity,

And so we live, or else we have no life.

To-morrow—nay perchance this very hour,

(For every moment has its own to-morrow!)

—Those blooming Boys, whose hearts are almost sick

With present triumph, will be sure to find

A field before them freshened with the dew

Of other expectations;—in which course