TRUTH.
Friend, Truth is best of all. It is the bed
Where Virtue e'er must spring, till blast of doom;
Where every bright and budding thought is bred,
Where Hope doth gain its strength, and Love its bloom.
As white as Chastity is single Truth,
Like Wisdom calm, like Honour without end;
And Love doth lean on it, in age and youth,
And Courage is twice arm'd with Truth its friend.
Oh! who would face the blame of just men's eyes,
And bear the fame of falsehood all his days,
And wear out scorned life with useless lies,
Which still the shifting, quivering look betrays?
For what is Hope, if Truth be not its stay?
And what were Love, if Truth forsook it quite?
And what were all the Sky,—if Falsehood gray
Behind it like a Dream of Darkness lay,
Ready to quench its stars in endless, endless night?
New Monthly Magazine.