I think it not improbable that man, like the grub that prepares a chamber for the winged thing it never has seen but is to be . . . may have cosmic destinies that he does not understand. And so beyond the vision of battling races and an impoverished earth, I catch a dreaming glimpse of peace.
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky. Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar- The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more.
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!