On the eminences of our lives the solitary still keep vigil.

In the air about us there still are Voices as of old, there still are visions wistfully besought.

Now, as then, dwarfed, blighted, wandering humanity prays, lifting up its hands to something above its narrow, circumscribing world.

Now, as then, the answer is sometimes given to a few for all.

Now, as then, the solemn front of the Hill of Dreams still rises, dominating calmly the wide land, keeping watch always out over the plains for those who are to come, for that which is to be.