The Truth Teller lifts the curtain, And shows us the people's plight; And everything seems uncertain, And nothing at all looks right. Yet out of the blackness groping, My heart finds a world in bloom; For it somehow is fashioned for hoping, And it cannot live in the gloom.
He tells us from border to border, That race is warring with race; With riot and mad disorder, The earth is a wretched place; And yet ere the sun is setting I am thinking of peace, not strife; For my heart has a way of forgetting All things save the joy of life.
I heard in my Youth's beginning That earth was a region of woe, And trouble, and sorrow, and sinning: The Truth Teller told me so. I knew it was true, and tragic; And I mourned over much that was wrong; And then, by some curious magic, The heart of me burst into song.
The years have been going, going, A mixture of pleasure and pain; But the Truth Teller's books are showing That evil is on the gain. And I know that I ought to be grieving, And I should be too sad to sing; But somehow I keep on believing That life is a glorious thing.
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