My thoughts are often like a motley crowd
That fill the street with ignominious cry,
But now and then amid the tumult loud
The kingly truth goes by.
I know not whence he comes, or whither bound
Our city's royal visitor may be,
But where he walks a silence spreads around—
All yield instinctively.
Then many narrow views which I have held,
Mistaken aims and selfish hopes and pride,
Hasten away, by very shame compelled,
And from my presence hide.
So pure is truth, so beautiful and kind,
So all-commanding is the voice that calls,
A hundred aspirations, long confined,
Break from their prison walls.
Stephen Tracy Livingstone in "Forward"