[Sonnet 47.] On a church-yard Mr. Wordsworth has the following lines:—
"Encincture small,
But infinite its grasp of joy and woe!
Hopes, fears, in never-ending ebb and flow—
The spousal trembling—and the "dust to dust"—
The prayers—the contrite struggle—and the trust,
That to the Almighty Father looks through all!"
[Sonnet 49.] Even Beattie addresses Nature as follows;—
"O Nature, how in every charm supreme!
Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new!