ight and storm, lone wandering but not lost,
straight to the south with instinct for mild airs, food, and a nest
among the rushes. It is not disappointed.

Man has an instinct for dominion which cannot be gratified here. He
weeps for more worlds to conquer. He is only a boy yet, getting a grip
on the hilt of the sword of conquest, feeling for some Prospero's wand
that is able to command the tempest. When he gets the proper pitch of
power, take away his body, and he is, as Richter says, no more afraid,
and he is also free from the binding effect of gravitation. Then there
are worlds enough, and every one a lighthouse to guide him to its
harbor. They all seek a Columbus with more allurements than America
did hers. Dominion over ten cities is the reward for faithfulness in
the use of a single talent.

Man has an instinct for travel and speed. To travel a couple of months
is a sufficient reward for a thousand toilful days. He earnestly
desires speed, develops race horses and bicycles to surpass them,
yachts, and engines. Not satisfied with this, he harnesses lightning
that takes his mind, his thought, to the ends of the earth in a
twinkling. But he is stopped there. How he yearns to go to the moon,
the sun, and stars! But he could not take his present body through the
temperatures of space three or four hundred degrees below zero. So he
must find a way of disembodying and of attachment to some force swift
as lightning, of which there are plenty in the spaces when the world
has ceased to be a world. It is all provided for by death.

Man has an instinct for knowledge not gratified nor gratifiable in the
present narrow bounds that hedge him in like walls of hewn stone. A
thousand questions he cannot solve about himself, his relations to
others and to the world about him, beset him here. There he shall know
even as he is known by perfect intelligence.

Here he has an instinct for love that is unsunderable. But the wails
of separation have filled the air since Eve shrieked over Abel.
Husbands and fathers are ever crying:

Immortal? I feel it and know it.
Who doubts of such as she?
But that's the pang's very essence,
Immortal away from me.

But there, in finer realms, shall be a knitting of severed friendships
up to be sundered no more forever.

Specially has man sought in this stage of being to know God. Job, in
his pain and loss, assailed by the cruel rebukes of his friends and
desolate