...there is no future life. It is the answer which the poet has put into the mouth of mere Nature : — " Thou makest thine appeal to me, I bring to life, I bring to death, The spirit doth but mean the breath ; I know no more." " This is all that there is in man, the material elements...

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...and ghosts as fluttering about like birds or fairies, The poet of the nineteenth century says ; — " The spirit does but mean the breath, I know no more." And the same thought was expressed by Cicero two thousand years ago : '• Whether the soul is air or fire,...

...gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. LT. " So careful of the type ?" but no. From scarped cliff...appeal to me : \I bring to life, I bring to death : iThe spirit does but mean the breath : I know no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who...

...gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. LV. ' So careful of the type ? ' but no. From scarped cliff...And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fan-, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built him fanes...

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...gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope." " ' So careful of the type ?' but no. From scarped cliff...types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go.'" More than all this, when he has shared, sympathised with, used the scientific leaning of modern thought,...

...Nature lends such evil dreams, So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life ? ' So careful of the type!' but no, . From scarped cliff...more/ And he, — shall he, Man, her last work, who seemed so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies And built him...

...such evil dreams, So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life ? ' So carcf nl of the type ! ' but no, From scarped cliff and quarried...more.' And he, — shall he, Man, her last work, who seemed so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies And built him...

...type i' but no, From scarped cliff and quarried stone, She ories, ' A thousand types are gone.' I oare for nothing ; all shall go : Thou makest thine appeal...more.' And he, — shall he, Man, her last work, who seemed so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies, And built...