Sonnet 88

No, brothers! no despairing—Envy's eye,
Sharp and malevolent, may pierce ye through—
Yet wound not truth by weakness, nor undo
Her victories by mistrust—nor faint—nor fly—
Since truth should stand erect, and lift on high
Her glorious standard; for she can subdue
Resistance into fealty—blasphemy
Into pure worship,—into reverence true.
Truth is a storme on Lebanon, that shaketh
The mighty cedars which resist her shock;
Oppos'd—far mightier is the stir she maketh—
Her tongue is as a word—her breath a rock—
Her heart is marble—pillars are her hands,
And trampling down her foes, with granite feet she stands.