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And ever thus may spirit be refined ;

For what is Godhead, but consummate mind?

Or Heaven, but one surpassing realm of thought,

With each perfection of His wisdom fraught ?

Not what we have, but what our natures feel,

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By truth unfolded for sublimest zeal,

Developes all which makes our being great,

And links a human to immortal state.

Than this, could fancy weave a darker curse ?

That man is meaner than the universe !

Creation is Eternal Will, express'd

In forms of matter which were deem'd the best ;

Within, is spirit; all without, we know

Forms the frail vision of a fleeting show:

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"Go), mark the chapd by great Wy keham reared,
where once the grandest of the grand appeared
In all that Pictu, and art, wulit give
for eyes to worship, or a name to live."

Montgomeru's Waford, page 36

Biblished 1st March 1831 by Whitaker $("London

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Nothing so grand amid creation found

As That which thinketh, when we gaze around!

Though bright the Earth, and beautiful her frame,

From thought divine her fair existence came;

Then do we not with Deity unite,

In fixing Mind the centre of delight,

From whose pure depth the rays of reason dart,

O’er Nature shine, and half her hues impart ?

For thus, the Spirit on her wing sublime

Above the reach of earth, and roar of time,

In that deep energy may proudly share

Which featur'd worlds, and all that formeth there !

If then from Intellect alone arise

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The noblest worth a Nation's heart can prize,

In tow'ry dimness, gothic, vast, or grand,

Behold her Palaces of learning stand!

When day was dying into sunset glow

I first beheld them in their beauteous show,

The massy glories of each gorgeous pile,

And thought-how noble is our native Isle !

A silent worship o'er my spirit came,

While feelings, far too exquisite for name,

Exultingly began their rapt controul,

And flutter'd like faint music in the soul !

Where Greatness trod, is hallow'd ground to me;

There can I lift the heart, and bow the knee,

Awake the Past to all her living might,

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