Where reason stops, let soaring faith begin. And the poor mummer's scornful lip is curled, And a low curse indignantly is hurled At arts which others blindly take as sooth. But when I enter thy pure presence, Sweet, I come as one into a holy shrine. I taste the mystic wafer and the wine, And fraud and falsehood from my heart retreat. Through thy divinity I grow divine, And my world's mask lies empty at thy feet.
Nothing is stable.
Though the deeds we do May bind the nations in a servile chain, And give to cowering slaves their joy and pain, The far result still frowns in open view. Earth smiles at tyrants, when the crown is laid Upon the coffin, and their history To after times with laughter is displayed.