Yet why such skilful pains bestow,
That colors once had use, to shew?
Vain zeal, since that you cannot know.
Fruitless your words! Is it not plain,
"Designed" or not, like April rain,
The end achieved is man's high gain?
VI.
'Tis folly to attempt truth's goal
With logic got of half the soul,—
Truth will not have the half, but whole.
Beauty, God's gladness seen in time,
Lights up Truth's calm white face sublime
With radiance of the golden prime!
Shall you and I look down for light?
Nay, upward let us fix our sight,
Downward's the awful gulf of night.
[MARIE DEPURE.]
Not with her outward eyes, but with her mind,
Her living soul, her faith,—for she was blind—
Marie Depure, with simple, loving heart,
Had seen the Christ, and chosen the good part.