And hate and fear and shun, is, after all,
Only as those discordant notes whereby
Well-skilled musicians heighten melody;—
But as the dark ground cunning painters lay,
To bring the bright hues into clearer day:
’Tis good, as yet imperfect, incomplete—
Fruit that is sour, while passing on to sweet.”
Then I, who knew the world had travelled o’er
This line of thought a thousand times before,
Would all debate have willingly put by,