Despite of sneers like these, O faithful few, Who dare to hold God's word and witness true; Whose clear-eyed faith transcends our evil time, And o'er the present wilderness of crime Sees the calm future, with its robes of green, Its fleece-flecked mountains, and soft streams between; Still keep the path which duty bids ye tread, Though worldly wisdom shake its cautious head! No truth from heaven descends upon our sphere, Without the greeting of the skeptic's sneer; Denied and mocked at, till its blessings fall Common as dews and sunshine over all. Then o'er earth's war field, till the strife shall cease, Like Morven's harpers, sing your song of peace; As in old fable rang the Thracian's lyre, Midst howl of fiends and roar of penal fire, Till the fierce din to pleasing murmurs fell.
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