June 3

The morning rose, in memorable pomp,
Glorious as e’er I had beheld—in front
The sea lay laughing at a distance: near
The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds,
Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light;
And in the meadows and the lower grounds
Was all the sweetness of a common dawn—
Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds,
And labourers going forth to till the fields.
Ah! need I say dear Friend! that to the brim
My heart was full: I made no vows, but vows
Were then made for me; bond unknown to me
Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly,
A dedicated Spirit. On I walked
In thankful blessedness, which yet survives.
William Wordsworth

WHAT a blessing would it be to us, one and all, could we but really wake up to the glory of this creation, in which we live! Most men are actually asleep for their lifetime in this vast and magnificent world. Mighty changes are going on around them, fitted to entrance their souls in wonder and thankfulness; and yet they are moved no more than if they were shut up in a mill, seeing only the perpetual revolution of spindles, and hearing only the monotonous hum and clatter of machinery.
William E. Channing


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