An excerpt from the play A Sleep of Prisoners Christopher Fry

Dark and cold we may be, but this Is no winter now. The frozen misery Of centuries breaks, cracks begins to move; The thunder is the thunder of the floes, The thaw, the flood, the upstart Spring. Thank God our time is now when wrong Comes up to face us everywhere, Never to leave us till we take The longest stride of soul men ever took Affairs are now soul size The enterprise Is exploration into God.