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My Sonnets

[by W. C. Bennett]

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[Of this be sure, the false shall surely die]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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[Of this be sure, the false shall surely die]

Of this be sure, the false shall surely die,
The true endure as surely. This shall find
Each mighty truth that one far-seeing mind
Moulds for the future, in obscurity,
At times denied even hope to satisfy
His spirit's slender wants. That truth, consigned,
Amid the jeers and mockings of his kind,
To bless the world through all eternity,
Its way through time it takes—the world is blind—
Its portion, folly's laugh and wisdom's scorn,
As, on, it, lonely, journeys, still behind,
Upon its steps, it hears. Yet, whilst you mourn
The blindness of the age, despair no wit,—
Men, surely, shall, in years, grow up to it.
June 25th, 1843.