... 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
        Hath had elsewhere its setting 
            And cometh from afar;
        Not in entire forgetfulness,
        And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
            From God, who is our home: 
 ... 

 ... 

        O joy! that in our embers
          Is something that doth live;
        That Nature yet remembers
          What was so fugitive!
 ... 
    Those shadowy recollections,
        Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our days,
Are yet the master-light of all our seeing;
    Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
            To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
             ... 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
    Hence, in a season of calm weather,
        Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
            Which brought us hither;
        Can in a moment travel thither -- 
 ... 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.