Classic Poem

Stand not on the Alps of Error,
Brother, though the tempting height
Lure thee to the grassy hill-top,
Though the view enchant the sight;
But if sorely tempted thither,
In some hour of gilded woe,
Stand, and gaze around thee, Brother,
On the Vale of Truth below.

Watch th' Enchantress from the summit,
See her wave her golden wand,
Till the far-illumined valley
Seems a heaven-enchanted land.
Mark the crowds of glowing faces,
That compose her endless train,
'Till that white-robed, shining army,
Fills the undulating plain.

Mark their gorgeous banners waving,
Listen to the peaceful hymn
Pealing from the countless millions,
Like the song of Seraphim.
Gently toward the blackened summit,
Where seductive Error stands,
March that Sin-invading army,
From the pleasant valley lands.

“Truth is Mighty!” shout the foremost,
“Truth is Mighty!” rends the plain,
Echoes through the mountain-gorges,
Vibrates over land and main.
And the hill-tops melt before them,
One by one they disappear,
As their watchword—“Truth is Mighty!”
Strikes the universal ear.

“Truth is Mighty!” and the valley
“O'er the hills is seen to rise,
Higher through the sun-lit heavens,
Till it seems to reach the skies.
“Truth is Godlike!” “Truth is Mighty!”
Now resound through all the air,
As the mountain-peaks of Error
Shrink away and disappear.

Not an arm is raised in anger,
Smiles on every face are seen,
They but breathe upon the mountain,
On its blackened sides and green:
It has vanished, like a cloudlet
Penetrated by the sun,
Vanished to the dark abysses
Of the greatest Evil One.