Hands And Lit Faces Eddy To A Line; The Dazed Last Minutes Click; The Clamour Dies. Beyond The Great-Swung Arc O' The Roof, Divine, Night, Smoky-Scarv'D, With Thousand Coloured Eyes Glares The Imperious Mystery Of The Way. Thirsty For Dark, You Feel The Long-Limbed Train Throb, Stretch, Thrill Motion, Slide, Pull Out And Sway, Strain For The Far, Pause, Draw To Strength Again. . . . As A Man, Caught By Some Great Hour, Will Rise, Slow-Limbed, To Meet The Light Or Find His Love; And, Breathing Long, With Staring Sightless Eyes, Hands Out, Head Back, Agape And Silent, Move Sure As A Flood, Smooth As A Vast Wind Blowing; And, Gathering Power And Purpose As He Goes, Unstumbling, Unreluctant, Strong, Unknowing, Borne By A Will Not His, That Lifts, That Grows, Sweep Out To Darkness, Triumphing In His Goal, Out Of The Fire, Out Of The Little Room. . . . There Is An End Appointed, O My Soul! Crimson And Green The Signals Burn; The Gloom Is Hung With Steam'S Far-Blowing Livid Streamers. Lost Into God, As Lights In Light, We Fly, Grown One With Will, End-Drunken Huddled Dreamers. The White Lights Roar. The Sounds Of The World Die. And Lips And Laughter Are Forgotten Things. Speed Sharpens; Grows. Into The Night, And On, The Strength And Splendour Of Our Purpose Swings. The Lamps Fade; And The Stars. We Are Alone.