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FRAGMENTS

In many brilliant colours Falsehood's decked,
Its churches with vast multitudes are packed;
But Truth's white light shines ever bright and clear
Though at its shrine few worshippers appear.




What is life's saddest tragedy? I think
It is the sinking of a noble spirit,
Full of high thoughts and generous aspirations,
To the low level of the life about him.




We go from one illusion to another,
And wander in a maze of endless windings;
This path, we say, leads to the goal at last,
The goal which we so long have sought in vain for;
But 'tis but one more passage leading nowhere:
And when our Mecca comes at last in sight
We fall exhausted by the journey's hardships.




The happiest fortune that a man can greet
But transient pleasure to his soul doth yield:
The worst of ills 'tis possible to meet
Calmly, and find in fortitude a shield.

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