The Making Of Man
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Where is one that, born of woman, altogether can escape From the lower world within him, moods of tiger, or of ape? Man as yet is being made, and ere the crowning Age of ages, Shall not รฆon after รฆon pass and touch him into shape? All about him shadow still, but, while the races flower and fade, Prophet-eyes may catch a glory slowly gaining on the shade, Till the peoples all are one, and all their voices blend in choric Hallelujah to the Maker โIt is finishโd. Man is made.โ
Crowd Score: 0.0
Want to save this story?
Create a free account to build your personal library of favorite stories
Sign Up - It's Free!Already have an account? Log in