The dreadful mystery of the river drew close.

The world of men was far, very far away.

Centuries ago, the man had faced himself in the mirror, and had obeyed the voice that summoned him into the darkness.

In fancy, now, he saw his empty boat swept on and on.

Through what varied scenes would it drift?
To what port would the mysterious will of the river carry it?
To what end would it at last come in its helplessness?
And the man himself,--the human soul-craft,--what of him?
As he had pushed his material boat out into the stream to drift, unguided and helpless, so, presently, he would push himself out from the shore of all that men call life.