Our little systems have their day They have their day and cease to be They are but broken lights of TheeAnd Thou, O L-rd, art more than theyWe have but faith, we cannot knowFor knowledge is of things we seeAnd yet we trust it comes from TheeA beam in darkness: let it growLet knowledge grow from more to moreBut more of reverence in us dwellThat mind and soul, according wellMay make one music as before
-Alfred Tennyson
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