Places of Worship

— by William Wordsworth

As star that shines dependent upon star Is to the sky while we look up and love; As to the deep fair ships which though they move Seem fixed, to eyes that watch them from afar; As to the sandy desert fountains are, With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals, Whose fruit around the sun-burnt Native falls Of roving tired or desultory war— Such to this British Isle her Christian Fanes, Each linked to each for kindred services; Her Spires, her Steeple-towers with glittering vanes Far-kenned, her Chapels lurking among trees, Where a few villagers on bended knees Find solace which a busy world disdains.