XLII

       He is made one with Nature: there is heard
       His voice in all her music, from the moan
       Of thunder, to the song of night’s sweet bird;
       He is a presence to be felt and known
       In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
       Spreading itself where’er that Power may move
       Which has withdrawn his being to its own;
       Which wields the world with never-wearied love,
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

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