In Day From Some Titanic Past It Seems As If A Thread Divine Of Memory Runs; Born Ere The Mighty One Began His Dreams, Or Yet Were Stars And Suns. But Here An Iron Will Has Fixed The Bars; Forgetfulness Falls On Earth'S Myriad Races: No Image Of The Proud And Morning Stars Looks At Us From Their Faces. Yet Yearning Still To Reach To Those Dim Heights, Each Dream Remembered Is A Burning-Glass, Where Through To Darkness From The Light Of Lights Its Rays In Splendour Pass.