No more prancing upwards.

No more uplift.

No more little Excelsiors crying world-brotherhood and international love and Leagues of Nations.

Idealism and materialism amount to the same thing on top of Pisgah, and the space is _very_ crowded.

We're all cornered on our mountain top, climbing up one another and standing on one another's faces in our scream of Excelsior.
To your tents, O Israel! Brethren, let us go down.