Cxiii

No,--the one voice which failed Never, the preachment's coign of vantage nothing ailed,-- That had the luck to lodge i' the house not made with hands! And all it preached was this: "Truth builds upon the sands, Though stationed on a rock: and so her work decays, And so she builds afresh, with like result. Naught stays But just the fact that Truth not only is, but fain Would have men know she needs must be, by each so plain Attempt to visibly inhabit where they dwell." Her works are work, while she is she; that work does well Which lasts mankind their lifetime through, and lets believe One generation more, that, though sand run through sieve, Yet earth now reached is rock, and what we moderns find Erected here is Truth, who, 'stablished to her mind I' the fulness of the days, will never change in show More than in substance erst: men thought they knew; we know!