Of power, where are they? Who shall regulate,
With truth, the scale of intellectual rank?”
Wordsworth.
Thus error’s monstrous shapes from earth are driven;
They fade, they fly—but truth survives their flight;
Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven;
Each ray that shone, in early time, to light
The faltering footsteps in the path of right,
Each gleam of clearer, brightness, shed to aid
In man’s maturer day his bolder sight,