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T
HE seas which course the deeper ways, the stars the higher plane, Give food for thought in subtle man, who pants for lasting fame ; The great old sea with width and depth, which men go skim- ming o'er Is far too deep for earthly lights a furlong from the shore. We theorize about the stars, yet little really know; Our nearest neighbor, warrior Mars, our searchlights will not show With clearness and with certainty, if he has seas at hand, Or whether snows, on mountain peaks; substantially, the land. Our wisdom archives which we prize, and point to with much pride Are, when compared with Nature's work, frail things to stand beside The covers, even, of the Writ; which man may not behold Until the time He shall unfast' those secret clasps of gold. With senses perfect, as we term, and in life's fullest light, The air we breathe we cannot see, with this our normal sight, Though it may come from fairy hands; the deeper vigils keep Equations, in the Book of Life, which man in time must meet! |
