Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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ON OVERSCRUPULOUS VIRTUE. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
53
ON OVERSCRUPULOUS VIRTUE.
She is a Sinner, and thou turn'st as tho'Thou wert an Angel in thy Purity;
Yet wherefore has God given thee an Eye
To see, an Heart to feel, save it be to
Work all the Good, which thou hast Power to do?
And tho' she be so! art thou then so high,
That thou canst not stoop down to her? then why
Did God send his own Son to us? are you
Higher than God, or purer than the son?
Shame on ye! in the Sight of God, None, none
Are vile; none, none contemptible, nor e'er
By Mercy thrust aside! He, who alone
Is himself nought but Purity, his Ear
Shuts not, not e'en to Her; nay He will hear
With far more Joy than when the Angels hymn
His Praise, that lost sheep praying unto Him,
«Our Father which art in Heaven, hallowed be
Thy Name,» have mercy, thou who read'st the Heart,
Who know'st the Burthen it has had to bear,
For these, these but the sin alone can see
And know not what the strong Temptations were.
Shame on thee! art thou more than God, or art
Thou less than Man? Yea! verily, I say,
Thy Sin is more than Hers a thousandfold,
For in God's sight, who is all Love, a cold
Hard Heart is of all sins the greatest; yea!
'Twere easier to make the waters flow
From the hard Flint, than Good from such a Breast!
Her Sin is nobler than thy virtue — aye,
A thousand times; for haply it doth owe
To that, which of all virtues is the best,
To Love, its origin — for there is no,
No virtue without Love; of all the Rest,
It is the End and the Beginning, the
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She be a Sinner! Wherefore should she be
So, longer than there is necessity?
Has she not still a Heart? must one Illdeed
Of neverfailing Evil sow the seed?
Beause ye do not, or ye will not know,
That Man is no machine to work out ill,
Which having done so once, must do so still!
And who compels her to remain so? ye,
Ye, ye, ye Hypocrites with puckered Brow
And lip of scorn, ye thrust her down to Hell,
And laugh like Demons o'er an Angel's Fall,
When she should sit in Glory' bove ye all!
She had a Soul of Good still in Her; Woe,
Then woe to ye, who suffer Her to dwell
In Sin, when ye might save! God will require
Her at your Hands, and great will be his Ire,
For this one, one lost soul: far better 'twere
That to your necks a Millstone had been tied,
And ye been cast into the deep sea, there
To perish, ere ye hardened thus your Hearts from Pride!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |