Classic Poem

Who is the infidel, but he who fears
To face the utmost truth, whate'er it be?
Dreads God the light? and is his majesty
A shadow that in sunshine disappears?
Or leads he on the swift-ascending years
Into a light where men may plainer see?
He trusts him best, to whom the mystery
Hides nothing dangerous; who ever hears,

With faith unshaken, his new-uttered voice,
And knows it cannot contradict the truth
It in the old time spoke. Whate'er it saith,
He fears not then, but bids his heart rejoice,
In old age trustful as he was in youth.
This only, though called infidel, is faith.