William Wordsworth

Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
read more

Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy
Bondman let me live!

The feather, whence the pen
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
Dropped from read more

The feather, whence the pen
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
Dropped from an Angel's wing.

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
read more

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath often left me mourning.

The child is father of the man.

The child is father of the man.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.