Iv. Darwinism In Morals

High instincts, dim previsions, sacred fears, --Whence issuing? Are they but the brain’s amassed Tradition, shapings of a barbarous past, Remoulded ever by the younger years, Mixed with fresh clay, and kneaded with new tears? No more? The dead chief’s ghost a shadow cast Across the roving clan, and thence at last Comes God, who in the soul His law uprears? Is this the whole? Has not the Future powers To match the Past,--attractions, pulsings, tides, And voices for purged ears? Is all our light The glow of ancient sunsets and lost hours? Advance no banners up heaven’s eastern sides? Trembles the margin with no portent bright?