"Are these then made in vain? Is man alone, Of all the marvels of creative love, Blest with a scintillation of His essence-- The heavenly spark of reasonable soul? And hath not yon sagacious dog, that finds A meaning in the shepherd's idiot face; Or the huge elephant, that lends his strength To drag the stranded galley to the shore, And strives with emulative pride t' excel The mindless crowd of slaves that toil beside him; Or the young generous war-horse, when he sniffs The distant field of blood, and quick and shrill Neighing for joy, instils a desperate courage Into the veteran trooper's quailing heart,-- Have they not all an evidence of soul, (Of soul, the proper attribute of man,) The same in kind, though meaner in degree? Why should not that which hath been--be forever? And death, O, can it be annihilation? No,--though the stolid atheist fondly clings To that last hope, how kindred to despair! No,--'tis the struggling spirit's hour of joy, The glad emancipation of the soul, The moment when the cumbrous fetters drop, And the bright spirit wings its way to heaven! "To say that God annihilated aught, Were to declare that in an unwise hour He planned and made somewhat superfluous. Why should not the mysterious life that dwells In reptiles as in man, and shows itself In memory, gratitude, love, hate, and pride, Still energize, and be, though death may crush Yon frugal ant or thoughtless butterfly, Or, with the simoom's pestilential gale Strike down the patient camel in the desert?