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ns illume The boundless space, then bends his head to earth, 270 So poor is all he knows! O'er sanguine fields Now rides he, armed and crested like the god Of fabled battles; where he points, pale Death Strides over weltering carcases; nor leaves,-- But still a horrid shadow, step by step, Stalks mocking after him, till now the noise Of rolling acclamation, and the shout Of multitude on multitude, is past: The scene of all his triumphs, wormy earth, 280 Closes upon his perishable pride; For "dust he is, and shall to dust return"! But Conscience, a small voice from heaven replies, Conscience shall meet him in another world. Let man, then, walk meek, humble, pure, and just; Though meek, yet dignified; though humble, raised, The heir of life and immortality; Conscious that in this awful world he stands, He only of all living things, ordained To think, and know, and feel, there is a God! 290 Child of the air, though most I love to hear Thy gentle summons whisper, when the Spring, At the first carol of the village lark, Looks out and smiles, or June is in her car; Not undelightful is the purer air In winter, when the keen north-east is high, When frost fantastic his cold garland weaves Of brittle flowers, or soft-succeeding snows Gather without apace, and heavy load The berried sweetbrier, clinging to my pane. 300 The blackbird, then, that marks the ruddy pods Peep through the snow, though silent is his song, Yet, pressed by cold and hunger, ventures near. The robin group, familiar, muster round The garden-shed, where, at his dinner set, The laboured hind strews here and there a crumb From his brown bread; then heedless of the winds That blow without, and sweep the shivered snow, Sees from his broken tube the smoke ascend On an inverted barrow, as in state 310 He sits, though poor, the monarch of the scene, As pondering deep the garden's future state, His kingdom; the rude instruments of death Lie at his feet, fashioned with simple skill, With which he hopes to snare the prowling race, The mice, rapacious of his vernal hopes. So seated, on the spring he ruminates, And solemn as a sophi,[124] moves nor
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