the masks are worn but still remain as true
as in the early day but when we move
beyond the instant second then the groove
has changed and there's no power to renew
what was ill-made by any human view
the which we have no right to disapprove
rather to wait as others would remove
our final hope with the bright morning dew
behind each mask no ordinary face
but visage bearing some immortal sign
come down to us from the ancestral race
as sign and symbol of a truth divine
for who we are and for the paths we tread
the times are clear and the meanings dread
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