Maybe I am all wrong about it, yet I cannot help believing that the
spirit of man will live again in a better world than ours. Fenelon says:
"Justice demands another life to make good the inequalities of this."
Astronomers prophesy the existence of stars long before they can see
them. They know where they ought to be, and training their telescopes in
that direction they wait, knowing they shall find them.

Materially, no one can imagine anything more beautiful than this earth,
for the simple reason that we cannot imagine anything we have not seen;
we may make new combinations, but the whole is made up of parts of
things with which we are familiar. This great green earth out of which
we have sprung, of which we are a part, that supports our bodies which
must return to it to repay the loan, is very, very beautiful.

But the spirit of man is not fully at home here; as we grow in soul and
intellect, we hear, and hear again, a voice which says: "Arise and get
thee hence, for this is not thy rest." And the greater and nobler and
more sublime the spirit, the more constant is the discontent. Discontent
may come from various causes, so it will not do to assume that the
discontented ones are always the pure in heart, but it is a fact that
the wise and excellent have all known the meaning of world-weariness.
The more you study and appreciate this life, the more sure you are that
this is not all. You pillow your head upon Mother Earth, listen to her
heart-throb, and even as your spirit is filled with the love of her,
your gladness is half pain and there comes to you a joy that hurts. To
look upon the most exalted forms of beauty, such as sunset at sea, the
coming of a storm on the prairie, or the sublime majesty of the
mountains, begets a sense of sadness, an increasing loneliness. It is
not enough to say that man encroaches on man so that we are really
deprived of our freedom, that civilization is caused by a bacillus, and