Death But Supplies The Oil For The

And In Today Already Walks Tomorrow.

Either We Have An Immortal Soul, Or We Have Not. If We Have Not, We Are Beasts,--the First And The Wisest Of Beasts, It May Be, But Still True Beasts. We Shall Only Differ In Degree And Not In Kind,--just As The Elephant Differs From The Slug. But By The Concession Of The Materialists Of All The Schools, Or Almost All, We Are Not Of The Same Kind As Beasts, And This Also We Say From Our Own Consciousness. Therefore, Methinks, It Must Be The Possession Of The Soul Within Us That Makes The Difference.

Man Is Distinguished From The Brute Animals In Proportion As Thought Prevails Over Sense: But In The Healthy Processes Of The Mind, A Balance Is Constantly Maintained Between The Impressions From Outward Objects And The Inward Operations Of The Intellect:--for If There Be An Overbalance In The Contemplative Faculty, Man Thereby Becomes The Creature Of Mere Meditation, And Loses His Natural Power Of Action.

And I, The While, The Sole Unbusy Thing, Nor Honey Make, Nor Pair, Nor Build, Nor Sing.

The Genius Of Coleridge Is Like A Sunken Treasure Ship, And Coleridge A Diver Too Timid And Lazy To Bring Its Riches To The Surface.