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TRUTH is a golden thread, seen here and there In small bright specks upon the visible side Of our strange being’s party-coloured web. How rich the converse! ’Tis a vein of ore Emerging now and then on Earth’s rude breast, But flowing full below. Like islands set At distant intervals on Ocean’s face, We see it on our course; but in the depths The mystic colonnade unbroken keeps Its faithful way, invisible but sure. Oh, if it be so, wherefore do we men Pass by so many marks, so little heeding? |