We cannot say the morning-sun fulfils

Only to make me worthier of the least.

Strong stars without significanｗｗｗ.9９lｉb.ｎetce insphere

Than what we come to. Maker and High Priest,

Against this work-day world, this ill９9ｌｉｂ•nｅｔ-spread feast,

Ingloriously its course, nor that the clear

NOW, by the verdure on thy thousand hills,

The will of God in, with rebellious wills !

Quite good enough for men to overbear

Our habitation: we, meantime, our ills

Heap up against this good and lift a cry

As if ourselves were better certainly

Beloved England, doth the earth appear

I ask thee not my joys to multiply,--