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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.
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