Night on the prairies, The supper is over, the fire on the ground burns low, The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt in their blankets; I walk by myself—I stand and look at the stars, which I think now never realized before. Now I absorb immortality and peace, I admire d**h and test propositions. How plenteous! how spiritual! how resume! The same old man and soul—the same old aspirations, and the same content. I was thinking the day most splendid till I saw what the not-day exhibited, I was thinking this globe enough till there sprang out so noiseless around me myriads of other globes. Now while the great thoughts of space and eternity fill me I will measure myself by them, And now touch'd with the lives of other globes arrived as far along as those of the earth, Or waiting to arrive, or pa**'d on farther than those of the earth, I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my own life, Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive. O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me, as the day cannot, I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by d**h.