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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899. Excerpt: ... And scorns by boasting science to be tracked. Hunt as we will all matter to the end, Life flits before it; last, as first, we find Naught but dead structure and the dust of fact; The infinite gap we cannot apprehend, The somewhat that is life--the informing mind. Even here in this still glen I cannot flee The secret that torments us everywhere. In cloud, sky, rock, tree, man, its mystery Pursues us ever to the same despair. What says this brook, that ever murmuring flows? What whisper these tall trees that talk alway? What secret hides the perfume of this rose? What is it that dear Nature strives to Our sense is dull, we cannot understand The voice we hear--but, oh! so far away As from a world beyond our night and day, A dream-voice from some dim, imagined land. Here dreaming on in idle, tranquil mood, Lulled by the tune that Nature softly plays, Our wandering thoughts, by some strange spell subdued, Are calmed and stilled, and all seems sweet and good, And she our mother seems, that on her breast, With murmuring voice, and gentle, whispering ways, Hushes her child within her arms to rest; And, though the child scarce knoweth what she says, He feels her presence gently o'er him brood. And yet, 0 Nature, thou no mother art, But for a moment, like to this, at best A stern step-mother thou, that to thy heart Claspest thy child by some caprice pos-sessed, Then, careless of his fate, abandonest, Flinging him off from thee to wail and cry, All heedless if he live or if he die. Is it for us thon, reckless, squanderest Thy beauty with such wide and lavish waste? For us? Ah I no; were we all swept away, What wouldst thou care? No change upon itiy face Would answer to our sorrow or disgrace, Alike to those who love, laugh, weep, or pray. Glares not the sun impertin...
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