Sometimes, when I hear people mouth the word “toleration,”
I am moved by a fury and a kind of pity too.
Because I know they have run too long with Compromise,
That girl of easy virtue,
Who yields to all with a slack smile,
And weakens her paramours by their quick and musty victories.

How different they who seek Truth,
She, whose radiant virtue is a beacon in strange places.
No man can wholly possess her;
But they become strong who follow her searching footsteps;
Strengthened by that slow and rigorous pursuit—
And the hope of her shining surrender.