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-- 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 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, 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.
Think gently of the erring; Ye know not of the power With which the dark temptation came In some unguarded hour; Ye may not know how earnestly They struggled, or how well, Until the hour of weakness came And sadly thus they fell.
Think gently of the erring; Oh, do not thou forget, However darkly stained by sin, He is thy brother yet; Heir of the self-same heritage, Child of the self-same God, He has but stumbled in the path Thou hast in weakness trod.
Speak gently to the erring; For is it not enough That innocence and peace have gone, Without thy censure rough? It sure must be a weary lot, That sin-stained heart to bear, And those who share a happier fate Their chidings well may spare.
Speak gently to the erring; Thou yet mayst lead them back, With holy words and tones of love, From misery's thorny track; Forget not thou hast often sinned, And sinful yet must be; Deal gently with the erring, then, As God has dealt with thee.
O God! whose thoughts are brightest light, Whose love runs always clear, To whose kind wisdom sinning souls Amidst their sins are dear,
Sweeten my bitter-thoughted heart With charity like thine, Till self shall be the only spot On earth which does not shine.
I often see in my own thoughts, When they lie nearest Thee, That the worst men I ever knew Were better men than me.
He whom no praise can reach is aye Men's least attempts approving; Whom justice makes all-merciful Omniscience makes all-loving.
How thou canst think so well of us Yet be the God thou art, Is darkness to my intellect, But sunshine to my heart.
Yet habits linger in the soul; More grace, O Lord! more grace! More sweetness from thy loving heart! More sunshine from thy face!