Classic Poem

Truth is a golden thread seen here and there
In small bright specks upon the visible side
Of our strange Being's party-coloured web.
How rich the converse. 'Tis a vein of ore
Emerging now and then on Earth's rude breast,
But flowing full below. Like islands set
At distant intervals on Ocean's face,
We see it on our course; but in the depths
The mystic colonnade unbroken keeps
Its faithful way invisible but sure.
O if it be so, wherefore do we men
Pass by so many marks, so little heeding?