Truth poems/ page 2 of 257 /
He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair
Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there,
It fortifies my soul to know
That, though I perish, Truth is so:
That, howsoe'er I stray and range,
Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change.
I steadier step when I recall
That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.