It seems very unfortunate that in order to secure political preference, people are made Vice President who are never intended, neither by party nor by the Lord, to be Presidents.
Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. If we continue to develop our technology without wisdom or prudence, our servant may prove to be our executioner.
For in and out, above, about, below, 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life spell, And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered I Myself am Heaven and Hell.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went.
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help for It As impotently moves as you or I.
The Moving Finger writes and, having writ, Moves on nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show.
A Book of Verses undeneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness- Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing Nor Whence, like Water, willy-nilly flowing And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not Wither, willy-nilly blowing.