“What, my soul, was thy errand here?”
Listening to the Preacher Kingsley, we may learn to
“Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;
And so, make life and death and that vast forever
One grand, sweet song.”
In our sadder moods we may, with Cowper, look across the dark, Cimmerian tide and recall the face and the kiss and the touch of a mother gone. In our gayer hours, with Burns we may gather sweet field flowers and garland them in love; and, whether in field or shop or kirk, learn somewhat
“To see oursels as others see us.”
With Wordsworth, receiving those faint intimations of immortality from recollections of early childhood, we may realize
“That there has passed away a glory from the earth.”
With Lowell we may feel that