" If thou wouldst know the mystic song 

 Chanted when the sphere was young, 

 Aloft, abroad, the paean swells, 

 wise man, hear'st thou half it, tells ? 

 To the open ear it sings 

 The early genesis of things ; 

 Of tendency through endless ages 

 Of star-dust and star-pilgrimages, 

 Of rounded worlds, of space and time, 

 Of the old floods' subsiding slime, 

 Of chemic matter, force and form, 

 Of poles and powers, cold, wet, and warm. 

 The rushing metamorphosis 

 Dissolving all that fixture is, 

 Melts things that be to things that seem, 

 And solid Nature to a dream." 



Emerson. 



" Was war' ein Gott der nur von aussen stiesse 

 Ira Kreis das All am Finger laufen liesse ! 

 Ihm ziemt's, die Welt im Innern zu bewegen, 

 Natur in Sicb, Sich in Natur zu hegen." 



Goethe. 



