THEY have taken the ball of earth and made it a little thing. They were held to the land and horses; they were held to the little seas. They have changed and shaped and welded; they have broken the old tools and made new ones; they are ranging the white scarves of cloudland; they are bumping the sunken bells of the Carthaginians and Phœnicians: they are handling the strongest sea as a thing to be handled. The earth was a call that mocked; it is belted with wires and meshed with steel; from Pittsburg to Vladivostok is an iron ride on a moving house; from Jerusalem to Tokyo is a reckoned span; and they talk at night in the storm and salt, the wind and the war. They have counted the miles to the Sun and Canopus; they have weighed a small blue star that comes in the southeast corner of the sky on a foretold errand. We shall search the sea again. We shall search the stars again. There are no bars across the way. There is no end to the plan and the clue, the hunt and the thirst. The motors are drumming, the leather leggings and the leather coats wait: Under the sea and out to the stars we go.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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