The spirit would soar, it would see, but the flesh weighs it down, and in all flesh there is little light.

Yet, at times, brooding on some unnatural height of Thought, its eyes seem to be opened, and it catches gleams of terrifying days to come, or perchance, discerns the hopeless gates of an immeasurable night.
Oh, for that simpler faith which ever recedes farther from the ken of the cultivated, questioning mind! There alone can peace be found, and for the foolish who discard it, setting up man's wisdom at a sign, soon the human lot will be one long fear.

Grown scientific and weary with the weight of knowledge, they will reject their ancient Gods, and no smug-faced Positivism will bring them consolation.

Science, here and there illumining the gloom of destiny with its poor electric lights, cries out that they are guiding stars.

But they are no stars, and they will flare away.