Hate and mistrust are the children of blindness.
On from room to room I stray,Yet mine Host can ne'er espy,And I know not to this day,Whether guest or captive I.
Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.
Song is not Truth, not Wisdom, but the rose Upon Truths lips, the light in Wisdom's eyes.
We hold our hate too choice a thing, for light and careless lavishing.
Too long, that some may rest, tired millions toil unblest.