October, 1803

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.  These times strike monied worldlings with dismay:
  Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
  With words of apprehension and despair:
  While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
  Men unto whom sufficient for the day
  And minds not stinted or untilled are given,
  Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven,
  Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.
  What do we gather hence but firmer faith
 That every gift of noble origin
 Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath;
 That virtue and the faculties within
 Are vital,-and that riches are akin
 To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?

© William Wordsworth