'Th' immortal mind of mortal man!' we hear yon loud-lunged Zealot cry; Whose mind but means his sum of thought, an essence of atomic 'I.' Thought is the work of brain and nerve, in small-skulled idiot poor and mean; In sickness sick, in sleep asleep, and dead when Death lets drop the scene.

Words, words that gender things! The soul is a new-comer on the scene; Sufficeth not the breath of Life to work the matter-born machine? The race of Be'ing fro…

'Tush!' quoth the Zahid, 'well we ken the teaching of the school abhorr'd 'That maketh man automaton, mind a secretion, soul a word.' 'Of molecules and protopl…

Yes Truth may be, but 'tis not Here; mankind must seek and find it There, But Where nor I nor you can tell, nor aught earth-mother ever bare. Enough to think t…