| |
| JUDGE not; the workings of his brain | |
| And of his heart thou canst not see; | |
| What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, | |
| In God’s pure light may only be | |
| A scar, brought from some well-won field, | 5 |
| Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. | |
| |
| The look, the air, that frets thy sight | |
| May be a token that below | |
| The soul has closed in deadly fight | |
| With some infernal fiery foe, | 10 |
| Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace | |
| And cast thee shuddering on thy face! | |
| |
| The fall thou darest to despise,— | |
| May be the angel’s slackened hand | |
| Has suffered it, that he may rise | 15 |
| And take a firmer, surer stand; | |
| Or, trusting less to earthly things, | |
| May henceforth learn to use his wings. | |
| |
| And judge none lost; but wait and see, | |
| With hopeful pity, not disdain; | 20 |
| The depth of the abyss may be | |
| The measure of the height of pain | |
| And love and glory that may raise | |
| This soul to God in after days! | |
| |
