ISSUE: Autumn 1941
Another ray! Horizons reel again;
And yet we move no nearer to the core.
All sight is outward—mind and vision strain
Beyond the known—perceive and peer for more.
What right have we, still primitive and crude,
Vassals ourselves, to such vast veins of power?
What right have slaves to sway infinitude
Or bend the bough of ages to an hour?
Since, turning from the spirit’s vestibule,
We flee the greater problem for the less,
And, duped by mastery, pretend to rule,
Disaster waits us, and the world’s distress.
Let us keep pace in mind and heart and soul—
Lest too much knowledge veil the further goal.
