This earth we live by, did it merely chance?
Or did some plan, obscurely, make it so?
Men argue vainly, and the clamors grow;
For if, creative, luck might yet enhance
Our mixed-up lives, the drudgery, the dance,
Why need we further efforts undergo?
Why not best leave to fortune all we know,
And meekly drill our lives away, like ants?

Yet should we strive to build up some new scheme.
 Defying facts, if facts be what they seem,
And make all men conform - let chance tell why,
In this brief span chance- grants before we die -
If plan we must, pray chance the plan be good;
Or let chance better it then, if mere chance could.