The Truth of Truths perchance man ne'er may know,
Yet he the search for it may not forego:
⁠'Tis good to climb the mountain's craggy side,
Though we reach not its pinnacle of snow.

Falsehood's a harlot with seductive smile.
Practised in every loose and wanton wile;
⁠To every temper she doth suit herself
By flattery, cajolery, or guile:

But Truth all art or artifice disdains,
No painting uses, no false beauty feigns;
⁠Cares not though men regardless pass her by,
And all-sufficient to herself remains.

Though she may seem to wear a frowning face,
Shrink not, but dare approach her and embrace,
⁠And then her veil falls off and you behold
Imperial beauty and celestial grace.