By Benjamin Hine
Truth, I see thy hallowed features,
Circled round with glory bright,
Too bright to dwell with sinful creatures,
Heaven, not earth, is thy delight.
There, from the eternal ages,
Thou in honour hast abode,
Loved and revered by highest angels,
A darling attribute of God.
Not so on earth; frail man abjures thee,
His eyes too weak to bear thy light,
To shun the blaze of thy effulgence,
He hides himself in error’s night,—
Darkness befits him.
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