The froward chaos of futurity

From The Prelude by William Wordsworth.

These mighty workmen of our later age

Who with a broad highway have overbridged

The froward chaos of futurity,

Tamed to their bidding—they who have the art

To manage books, and things, and make them work 

Gently on infant minds as does the sun

Upon a flower—the tutors of our youth,

The guides, the wardens of our faculties

And stewards of our labour, watchful men

And skilful in the usury of time, 

Sages, who in their prescience would controul

All accidents, and to the very road

Which they have fashioned would confine us down

Like engines—when will they be taught

That in the unreasoning progress of the world 

A wiser spirit is at work for us,

A better eye than theirs, most prodigal

Of blessings, and most studious of our good,

Even in what seem our most unfruitful hours?