Introductory

The Wanderer.

The throng of Earth’s slow struggles seek not here,
Nor pomp, nor circumstance, nor moving tale;
But whatsoever of that angelic scale,
Whose feet are Earth-set, whose tops touch the Sphere,
By its own splendours may be rendered clear,
Shall show one soul, whether she rise or fail:
Faith’s sympathetic vision will prevail
To see more true things than to sense appear:
The soul sees with the eye as through a glass,
And, if God wills, without it; be it not said,
“This,” or “that is,” or “is not;” shadows pass
Before us: O! ere long may we be made
To own the temporary things we see
A mere penumbra of Eternity!