And here, shrewd reasoner, so eager to prove that thou must perish, I note a sneer upon thy lip, and ridicule is haply on thy tongue: How, said he,--creature of a God, and are not all His creatures,-- The lion, and the gnat,--yea, the mushroom, and the crystal,--have all these a soul? Thy fancies tend to prove too much, and overshoot the mark: If I die not with brutes, then brutes must live with me?-- I dare not tell thee that they will, for the word is not in my commission; But of the twain it is the likelier; continuance is the chance: Men, dying in their sins, are likened unto beasts that perish; They are dark, animal, insensate, but have they not a lurking soul? The spirit of a man goeth upward, reasonable, apprehending God; The spirit of a beast goeth downward, sensual, doting on the creature: Who told thee they die at dissolution?--boldly think it out,-- The multitude of flies, and the multitude of herbs, the world with all its beings: Is Infinity too narrow, Omnipotence too weak, and Love so anxious to destroy, Doth Wisdom change its plan, and a Maker cancel His created? God's will may compass all things, to fashion and to nullify at pleasure: Yet are there many thoughts of hope, that all which are shall live. True, there is no conscience in the brute, beyond some educated habit, They lay them down without a fear, and wake without a hope: Hunger and pain is of the animal: but when did they reckon or compare? They live, idealess, in instinct; and while they breathe they gain: The master is an idol to his dog, who cannot rise beyond him; And void of capability for God, there would seem small cause for an infinity. Therefore, caviller, my poor thoughts dare not grant they live: But is it not a great thing to assume their annihilation--and thine own? Would it be much if a speck on space, this globe with all its millions, Verily, after its pollution, were suffered to exist in purity? Or much, if guiltless creatures, that were cruelly entreated upon earth, Found some commensurate reward in lower joys hereafter? Or much, if a Creator, prodigal of life, and filled with the profundity of love, Rejoice in all creatures of His skill, and lead them to perfection in their kind? O man, there are many marvels; yet life is more a mystery than death: For death may be some stagnant life,--but life is present God!