But though we may differ from his judgments, the test which he applied to his recollected impressions is clear.

He attached most value to those which brought with them the sense of an indwelling spirit, transfusing and interpenetrating all nature, transfiguring with its radiance, rocks and fields and trees and the men and women who lived close enough to them to partake of their strength--the sense, as he calls it in his _Lines above Tintern Abbey_ of something "more deeply interfused" by which all nature is made one.

Sometimes, as in the hymn to Duty, it is conceived as law.

Duty before whom the flowers laugh, is the daughter of the voice of God, through whom the most ancient heavens are fresh and strong.

But in most of his poems its ends do not trouble; it is omnipresent; it penetrates everything and transfigures everything; it is God.