From the Baptismal hour, thro' weal and woe, The Church extends her care to thought and deed; Nor quits the Body when the Soul is freed, The mortal weight cast off to be laid low. Blest Rite for him who hears in faith, "I know 5 That my Redeemer liveth,"--hears each word That follows--striking on some kindred chord Deep in the thankful heart;--yet tears will flow. Man is as grass that springeth up at morn, Grows green, and is cut down and withereth 10 Ere nightfall--truth that well may claim a sigh, Its natural echo; but hope comes reborn At JESU'S bidding. We rejoice: "O Death Where is thy Sting?--O Grave where is thy Victory?"

Closing the sacred Book[311] which long has fed Our meditations,[312] give we to a day Of annual[313] joy one tributary lay; This[314] day, when, forth by rustic music led, The village Children, while the sky is red 5 With evening lights, advance in long array Through the still church-yard, each with garland gay, That, carried sceptre-like, o'ertops the head Of the proud Bearer. To the wide church-door, Charged with these offerings which their fathers bore 10 For decoration in the Papal time, The innocent Procession softly moves:-- The spirit of Laud is pleased in heaven's pure clime, And Hooker's voice the spectacle approves!

The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Vol. VII — Part 59

[310] This is still continued in many churches in Westmoreland. It takes place in the month of July, when the floor of the stalls is strewn with fresh rushes; and hence it is called the "Rush-bearing."--W. W. 1822.

The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Vol. VII — Part 59

With smiles each happy face was overspread, That trial ended ... 1822.

The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Vol. VII — Part 59

Content with calmer scenes around us spread And humbler objects, ... 1827.

Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave Less scanty measure of those graceful rites And usages, whose due return invites A stir of mind too natural to deceive; Giving to[315] Memory help when she would weave 5 A crown for Hope!--I dread the boasted lights That all too often are but fiery blights, Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve. Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring, The counter Spirit found in some gay church 10 Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch In which the linnet or the thrush might sing, Merry and loud and safe from prying search, Strains offered only to the genial Spring.