What is the verdict of the vastest mindIJ Silence: the book of fate is closed to us. Man is a stranger to his own research; He knows not whence he comes, nor whither goes. Tormented atoms in a bed of mud, Devoured by death, a mockery of fate. But thinking atoms, whose far-seeing eyes, guided by thought, have measured the faint stars, our being mingles with the infinite; ourselves we never see, or come to know.
