Normale Version: Distrust
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A reverent worshipper, oh, Trith! of thee,
I bow, with foot unsandalled, wheresoe’er
Thy voice may whisper “holy ground is here.”
Amid uncertain paths, thy light may be

Dim to my wavering feet; yet unto me,
Intently waiting, once again, more clear,
More tranquil, doth thy holy light appear,
As minding me how dreary earth were left,

A dark, bewildering waste of thee bereft.
Should not thy temple be transparent, Truth?
Should not thy undimed altar-fires arise

Brightest in human hearts? In our first youth
Unchecked we worship there, with fearless eyes!
Thou art not exiled thence, oh, spirit of the skies!