For some
    it is all darkness; for me, too,
    it is dark. But there are hands
    there I can take, voices to hear
    solider than the echoes
    without. And sometimes a strange light
    shines, purer than the moon,
    casting no shadow, that is
    the halo upon the bones
    of the pioneers who died for truth.

From R. S. Thomas, "Groping"