Is not the highest honour his who from the worst hath drawn the best; May not your Maker make the world from matter, an it suit His hest? Nay more, the sordider the stuff the cunninger the workman's hand: Cease, then, your own Almighty Power to bind, to bound, to understand.

'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…

'Reason and Instinct!' How we love to play with words that please our pride; Our noble race's mean descent by false forged titles seek to hide! For 'gift divin…

'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 o…