ON THE seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances. They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds. They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather-pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets. The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach. On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships get wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
WHEN MY mind was released from the black cavern of oblivion and woke up into an intolerable surprise it found itself at the crater of a volcanic hell-fire that spouted forth a stifling fume of insult to Man; it witnessed the long-drawn suicidal agony of the Time-spirit passing through convulsions of a monstrous deformity worse than death. On its one side a defiant savagery and the growl of homicidal drunkenness, on the other timid powers tied to the load of their carefully guarded hoardings, meekly settling down to a silent safety of acquiescence after miscalculated bursts of impatience. At the old nations' council-chambers plans and protests are pressed flat between the tight-shut prudent lips. In the meanwhile across the sky rush with their blazing blasphemy the soulless swarms of vulture-machines carrying their missiles of ravenous passion for human entrails. Give me power, O awful Judge, sitting on the throne of Eternity, give me a voice of thunder, that I may hurl imprecation upon this cannibal whose gruesome hunger spares neither women nor children, that my words of reproach may ever rock upon the heart-throbs of a history humiliated by itself, till this age choked and chained finds the bed of its final rest in its ashes.
