Thou, whose exterior semblance[323] doth belie Thy Soul’s immensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 110 Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,-- Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, 115 Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;[324] Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o’er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by;[325] 120 Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being’s height,[326] Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 125 Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom[327] lie upon thee with a weight,[328] Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! IX O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, 130 That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction;[329] not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; 135 Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:--[330] Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; 140 But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, 145 High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, 150 Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make[331] Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 155 To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! 160 Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, 165 And see the Children sport upon the shore,