Epigraph
When falsehood genders in a human soul,
Blossoms may hide the reptile in his creeping,
But every pulse will stir at his control,
Or feel the burden of his poisonous sleeping,
Until the tight’ning circle of his coils
Binds down the heart, which God alone assoils.
In honest hearts the gentle truth reposes;
As nightingales, with rapturous music filled,
Nestle down, softly, in the clust’ring roses,
While the sweet night and moonlit air is thrilled
With perfect harmonies,—truth will arise
And send its voice, upringing, to the skies.