135
unfulfilled destiny of genius is a mystery, whose solution is not of earth. It is but one of those many voices wandering in this wilderness of ours that tell us not here is our lot appointed to finish. We are here but for a space and for a season,—for a task and a time,—and the end no man knoweth. The earthly immortality of the mind is but a type of the heavenly immortality of the soul. Peace be to the beating heart and the worn spirit that had just departed—where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest!"
M 2
