By that long scan of waves, myself call'd back, resumed upon myself,
In every crest some undulating light or shade — some retrospect,
Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas — scenes ephemeral,
The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead,
Myself through every by-gone phase — my idle youth — old age at hand,
My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past,
By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing,
And haply yet some drop within God's scheme's ensemble — some wave, or part of wave,
Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean.