XXI.

As pebbles flung for sport, that leap Along the superficial tide, But enter not those chambers deep Wherein the beds of pearl abide;

Such those light minds that, grazing, spurn The surface text of Sacred Lore, Yet ne'er its deeper sense discern, Its hails of mystery ne'er explore.

Ah! not for such the unvalued gems; The priceless pearls of Truth they miss: Not theirs the starry diadems That light God's temple in the abyss!

Ah! not for such to gaze on her That moves through all that empire pale; At every shrine doth minister, Yet never drops her vestal veil.

"The letter kills." Make pure thy Will; So shalt thou pierce the Text's disguise: Till then, revere the veil that still Hides truth from truth-affronting eyes.