Once In A Century A Man May

What Am I, Life? A Thing Of Watery Salt Held In Cohesion By Unresting Cells, Which Work They Know Not Why, Which Never Halt, Myself Unwitting Where Their Master Dwells?

I Must Go Down To The Sea Again For The Call Of The Running Tide It's A Wild Call And A Clear Call That May Not Be Denied.

The Social States Of Human Kinds Are Made By Multitudes Of Minds, And After Multitudes Of Years A Little Human Growth Appears Worth Having, Even To The Soul Who Sees Most Plain It's Not The Whole.

God Dropped A Spark Down Into Everyone, And If We Find And Fan It To A Blaze, It'll Spring Up And Glow, Like--like The Sun, And Light The Wandering Out Of Stony Ways.

I Hold That When A Person Dies / His Soul Returns Again To Earth; / Arrayed In Some New Flesh Disguise / Another Mother Gives Him Birth / With Sturdier Limbs And Brighter Brain.