{"id":20,"date":"2013-01-11T17:50:00","date_gmt":"2013-01-11T17:50:00","guid":{"rendered":""},"modified":"2017-03-02T04:49:20","modified_gmt":"2017-03-02T04:49:20","slug":"trailing-clouds-of-glory","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/2013\/01\/11\/trailing-clouds-of-glory\/","title":{"rendered":"Trailing clouds of glory…"},"content":{"rendered":"

A close friend recently suffered the death of member of her family. It got me to thinking, once again, about life and death, where we come from, where we are going, and what is our purpose here. \u00a0I recalled the often-quoted verses of William Wordsworth:<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a060<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Hath had elsewhere its setting,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And cometh from afar:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Not in entire forgetfulness,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And not in utter nakedness,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
But trailing clouds of glory do we come<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a065<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From God, who is our home:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

I had often heard and read this short stanza, but had never read the entire poem. \u00a0I took the opportunity this morning and was rewarded with a pleasant few minutes as I contemplated the words of \u00a0Ode, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood<\/u>. I copy\/pasted it at the end of this post from the indicated source. If you have not before read the poem, I highly recommend it.<\/p>\n

In my studies of religious doctrines regarding the nature of mortality, I find that anciently, the idea of the spirit of mankind existing before this life was not an unknown or strange doctrine. It was common belief in Judaism as well as spoken of in Greek philosophy. \u00a0It seems that Christianity, however, diverged from this view during the 6th century after Christ. During that same period came the rise of Islam, which teaches that the spirits of all mankind were created before mortality at the same time that Adam was created and was given life in the Garden of Eden.<\/p>\n

Currently mainstream Christian doctrine teaches that the spirit is created by God at the same time the body is created in the womb and the two are joined by God as one. This doctrine is integral to what is commonly known as “Creationism.” I find it interesting, however, that many who profess belief in Creationism, when asked whether they believe they lived with God before this life, will respond in the affirmative, which was apparently the case with William Wordsworth.<\/p>\n

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS Church), also known as the Mormon Church, restored this doctrine of a pre-mortal life to Christianity in the early1800s when the Prophet Joseph Smith declared that man is as eternal as is God, his father. This doctrine was later further interpreted by the Prophet Brigham Young, who said that all men and women are literal offspring of a Heavenly Father and Mother, and that family relations created in this life after the pattern established in the eternal realms may also be eternal.<\/p>\n

To be totally transparent, I will tell my readers that I am a member of the LDS Church. I am a Mormon. I believe the words of William Wordsworth in that single stanza quoted above were born of exactly the feelings he described in the poem. We, indeed, come to this life “trailing clouds of glory” as our Father in Heaven’s eternal children, and our birth includes a “forgetfulness,” by which we are able to develop faith in Him and in His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ. \u00a0When we die, we go “back to that God who gave [us] life,” (Alma 40:11) to account for what we have done here in mortality with the “talents,” (Matthew 25:14-30) or blessings and gifts, God gave us to work with, and, if we have done well, to live in joy and peace with Him forever.<\/p>\n

That doctrine speaks peace to my heart. The Spirit tells me it is true. Were it not true, where would be the purpose in life? Simply to please God? For no other reason than “His good pleasure”? If I was created without a family, how could any relationship endure longer than “till death do us part”?\u00a0Does it not lift the spirit to know that one literally\u00a0is<\/i>\u00a0a child of God<\/i>\u00a0and not simply that in some ethereal sense? To know that there is also a concerned and loving, and eternal, Mother there in Heaven as well, awaiting our return? To then recognize the unavoidable logic that one may also become as they are<\/i>?\u00a0What could please God more than to have His children\u00a0return<\/i>\u00a0to Him, to be with Him\u00a0again<\/i>\u00a0and to live with Him throughout eternity, and to be able to inherit all that he has to give?<\/p>\n

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? (1 Cor. 15:55).<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse:\u00a01250\u20131900.<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
William Wordsworth.\u00a01770\u20131850<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
536.\u00a0Ode<\/b><\/span>
\nIntimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood<\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
THERE\u00a0was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The earth, and every common sight,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To me did seem<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Apparell’d in celestial light,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The glory and the freshness of a dream.<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a05<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
It is not now as it hath been of yore;\u2014<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Turn wheresoe’er I may,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By night or day,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rainbow comes and goes,<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a010<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And lovely is the rose;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The moon doth with delight<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look round her when the heavens are bare;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Waters on a starry night<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Are beautiful and fair;<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a015<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sunshine is a glorious birth;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But yet I know, where’er I go,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
That there hath pass’d away a glory from the earth.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And while the young lambs bound<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a020<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As to the tabor’s sound,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
To me alone there came a thought of grief:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And I again am strong:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a025<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all the earth is gay;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Land and sea<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a030<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Give themselves up to jollity,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with the heart of May<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Doth every beast keep holiday;\u2014<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thou Child of Joy,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a035<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Shepherd-boy!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Ye bless\u00e8d creatures, I have heard the call<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ye to each other make; I see<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My heart is at your festival,<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a040<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My head hath its coronal,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The fulness of your bliss, I feel\u2014I feel it all.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O evil day! if I were sullen<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0While Earth herself is adorning,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This sweet May-morning,<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a045<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And the children are culling<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On every side,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In a thousand valleys far and wide,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm:\u2014<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a050<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2014But there’s a tree, of many, one,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
A single field which I have look’d upon,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Both of them speak of something that is gone:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The pansy at my feet<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a055<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Doth the same tale repeat:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a060<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Hath had elsewhere its setting,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And cometh from afar:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Not in entire forgetfulness,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And not in utter nakedness,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
But trailing clouds of glory do we come<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a065<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From God, who is our home:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Shades of the prison-house begin to close<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon the growing Boy,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a070<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He sees it in his joy;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The Youth, who daily farther from the east<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Must travel, still is Nature’s priest,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And by the vision splendid<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is on his way attended;<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a075<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
At length the Man perceives it die away,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And fade into the light of common day.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And, even with something of a mother’s mind,<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a080<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And no unworthy aim,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The homely nurse doth all she can<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Forget the glories he hath known,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And that imperial palace whence he came.<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a085<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
A six years’ darling of a pigmy size!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
See, where ‘mid work of his own hand he lies,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Fretted by sallies of his mother’s kisses,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
With light upon him from his father’s eyes!<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a090<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Some fragment from his dream of human life,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Shaped by himself with newly-learn\u00e8d art;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A wedding or a festival,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A mourning or a funeral;<\/td>\n\u00a0\u00a095<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And this hath now his heart,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And unto this he frames his song:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then will he fit his tongue<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But it will not be long<\/td>\n\u00a0100<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ere this be thrown aside,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with new joy and pride<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The little actor cons another part;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Filling from time to time his ‘humorous stage’<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,<\/td>\n\u00a0105<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
That Life brings with her in her equipage;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As if his whole vocation<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Were endless imitation.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thy soul’s immensity;<\/td>\n\u00a0110<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal deep,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,\u2014<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mighty prophet! Seer blest!<\/td>\n\u00a0115<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On whom those truths do rest,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thou, over whom thy Immortality<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Broods like the Day, a master o’er a slave,<\/td>\n\u00a0120<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
A presence which is not to be put by;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To whom the grave<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of day or the warm light,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;<\/td>\n\u00a0125<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being’s height,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?<\/td>\n\u00a0130<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O joy! that in our embers<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is something that doth live,<\/td>\n\u00a0135<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That nature yet remembers<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What was so fugitive!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The thought of our past years in me doth breed<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Perpetual benediction: not indeed<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
For that which is most worthy to be blest\u2014<\/td>\n\u00a0140<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Delight and liberty, the simple creed<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:\u2014<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Not for these I raise<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The song of thanks and praise;<\/td>\n\u00a0145<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But for those obstinate questionings<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of sense and outward things,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fallings from us, vanishings;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Blank misgivings of a Creature<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Moving about in worlds not realized,<\/td>\n\u00a0150<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
High instincts before which our mortal Nature<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But for those first affections,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Those shadowy recollections,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Which, be they what they may,<\/td>\n\u00a0155<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Our noisy years seem moments in the being<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,<\/td>\n\u00a0160<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To perish never:<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor Man nor Boy,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Can utterly abolish or destroy!<\/td>\n\u00a0165<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Hence in a season of calm weather<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Though inland far we be,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Which brought us hither,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Can in a moment travel thither,<\/td>\n\u00a0170<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And see the children sport upon the shore,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And let the young lambs bound<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As to the tabor’s sound!<\/td>\n\u00a0175<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
We in thought will join your throng,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ye that pipe and ye that play,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ye that through your hearts to-day<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Feel the gladness of the May!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
What though the radiance which was once so bright<\/td>\n\u00a0180<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Be now for ever taken from my sight,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Though nothing can bring back the hour<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We will grieve not, rather find<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Strength in what remains behind;<\/td>\n\u00a0185<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the primal sympathy<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Which having been must ever be;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the soothing thoughts that spring<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Out of human suffering;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the faith that looks through death,<\/td>\n\u00a0190<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
In years that bring the philosophic mind.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Forebode not any severing of our loves!<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
I only have relinquish’d one delight<\/td>\n\u00a0195<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
To live beneath your more habitual sway.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Even more than when I tripp’d lightly as they;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is lovely yet;<\/td>\n\u00a0200<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
The clouds that gather round the setting sun<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Do take a sober colouring from an eye<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality;<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,<\/td>\n\u00a0205<\/i><\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
To me the meanest flower that blows can give<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.<\/td>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A close friend recently suffered the death of member of her family. It got me to thinking, once again, about life and death, where we come from, where we are going, and what is our purpose here. \u00a0I recalled the often-quoted verses of William Wordsworth: Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Trailing clouds of glory…”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":43,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-truth-and-reason"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/2013\/01\/clouds-of-glory.jpg?fit=2560%2C1413&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p8sRRD-k","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":44,"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20\/revisions\/44"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/43"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tonyhenrie.me\/wordpress\/weatheronthehorizon\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}