I
know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch’d a jarring lyre at first,
But
ever strove to make it true:
Perplext
in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe
me, than in half the creeds.
He
fought his doubts and gather’d strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And
laid them: thus he came at length
To
find a stronger faith his own;
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And
dwells not in the light alone,
But
in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinaï’s peaks of old,
While Israel made their gods of gold,
Altho’
the trumpet blew so loud.