Lo! the stress, the immortal passion, the dashing against the barriers of self, the ever-widening of the bounds;

The endless contest, the melancholy haughty Titanic and lonely struggle of the soul;

The ecstatic deliverance, the bursting of the sac, the outrush and innumerable progeny!

* * * * *

Lo! the healing power descending from within, calming the confused mind, spreading peace among the quivering nerves;

Lo! the eternal Savior, the sought after of all the world, dwelling hidden (yet to be disclosed) within each;

The haunting clinging dream, the theme and long refrain of ages, O joy insuperable!

Casting out types through all creation, tentative, loose notes and motifs,

Sleeping in the bosom of the hills before ever the naked foot of man trod among them,

Dwelling in mighty fir and oak, giants of the forest, and in the tiny life which springs about their roots,

Time out of mind immeasurable, standing behind the night and stars—inhabiting the wheeling earth—

Lo, all as at random, thrown forth!

* * * * *

[The old Red Indian walks the silent-wooded wildernesses—hundreds and scores of hundreds of miles are familiar to him;

Like an ancient rock full of lines, weatherworn impassive is his face—the stars are his well-known friends.

The young Zulu with feathers on his head and wildcat tails around his loins, and carriage erect and proud as an emu, joins the gathering of warriors—he seems to push the earth from beneath him as he walks.]