The science-minded men upon the beach
Who number grains of sands, and hope to find
Why sand exists, will find that out of reach.
Between these two domains God drew a line,
As firm as that which still the ocean binds:
Proud waves may come so far and then must stand,
Held back by God’s immutable command.
Still, counting-men believe, in surging pride,
That when the sky is measured, breadth and height,
And every single atom quantified,
Those questions will stand forth in perfect light
Which haunted them awake in bed at night.
And “Purpose” upon the periodic table will appear,
And death, dissected, will then deserve no fear.