Ye cannot escape me, O children of earth!
For I am the essence of all that hath been—
Of chaos, selection, possession and change,—
And I am the prophet of all that shall be!
I lay in the depths of the far-reaching cave!
I slept in the slow-creeping Saurian's heart!
I shivered the air with my storm-beating wings!
I conquered the world and demanded high Heaven.
And ye are but tools of my fashioning power;
Your trumpets are mine, your defeats and rewards;
As by me, and through me, and from me ye grow;
For I was and shall be! Forever I am!
The author and finisher! Soul of all soul!
Yea, I am the breath of the Spirit of God!
It is a seed grain that cannot die. Unnoticed today, it will be found flourishing as a banyan grove—perhaps, alas, as a hemlock forest—after a thousand years.