FORTH from ages thick in mystery, Through the morn and noon of history, To the moment where I stand As my line wound; I the last one -- Outcome of each spectral past one Of that file, so many-manned! Nothing in its time-trail marred it: As one long life I regard it Throughout all the years till now, When it fain -- the close seen coming -- After annals past all plumbing -- Makes to Being its parting bow. Unlike Jahveh's ancient nation, Little in their line's cessation Moderns see for surge of sighs: They have been schooled by lengthier vision, View Life's lottery with misprision, And its dice that fling no prize! |