But whether the end be seventy years hence, or
seven hundred,--be the close of the mortal history of humanity as far
distant in the future as its shadowy beginnings seem now to lie behind
us,--this only we may foretell with confidence,--that the riddle of
man's nature will remain unsolved. There will be that in him yet which
physical laws will fail to explain,--that something, whatever it be, in
himself and in the world, which science cannot fathom, and which
suggests the unknown possibilities of his origin and his destiny. There
will remain yet
"Those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things;
Falling from us, vanishing;
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realized;
High instincts, before which our mortal nature
Doth tremble like a guilty thing surprised."
There will remain
"Those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,--
Are yet the master-light of all our seeing,--
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the Eternal Silence.
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