 |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
| 3. |
GOD LOVES HIM STILL. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
| 34. |
| 35. |
| 36. |
| 37. |
| 38. |
| 39. |
| 40. |
| 41. |
| 42. |
| 43. |
| 44. |
| 45. |
| 46. |
| 47. |
| 48. |
| 49. |
| 50. |
| 51. |
| 52. |
| 53. |
| 54. |
| 55. |
| 56. |
| 57. |
| 58. |
| 59. |
| 60. |
| 61. |
| 62. |
| 63. |
| 64. |
| 65. |
| 66. |
| 67. |
| 68. |
| 69. |
| 70. |
| 71. |
| 72. |
| 73. |
| 74. |
| 75. |
| 76. |
| 77. |
| 78. |
| 79. |
| 80. |
| 81. |
| 82. |
| 83. |
| 84. |
| 85. |
| 86. |
| 87. |
| 88. |
| 89. |
| 90. |
| 91. |
| 92. |
| 93. |
| 94. |
| 95. |
| 96. |
| 97. |
| 98. |
| 99. |
| 100. |
| 101. |
| 102. |
| 103. |
| 104. |
| 105. |
| 106. |
| 107. |
| 108. |
| 109. |
| 110. |
| 111. |
| 112. |
| 113. |
 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
273
GOD LOVES HIM STILL.
Remember ye, who, in your pride,
A guilty brother cast aside,
All human hearts to love will thrill,
And though he sin—God loves him still!
A guilty brother cast aside,
All human hearts to love will thrill,
And though he sin—God loves him still!
God loves him still—and loves the more,
Because to all he knew before,
A heavier weight of wo and pain
Is added by your cold disdain.
Because to all he knew before,
A heavier weight of wo and pain
Is added by your cold disdain.
Ah! once, in dimpled childhood's hour,
As pure, as guileless as the flower
That in his little hand he press'd,
He smiled—by all around caress'd!
As pure, as guileless as the flower
That in his little hand he press'd,
He smiled—by all around caress'd!
Ye ne'er can know, how, ray by ray,
And tint by tint, in Life's affray,
His soul—a wilted, faded flower,
Has lost the light of childhood's hour!
And tint by tint, in Life's affray,
His soul—a wilted, faded flower,
Has lost the light of childhood's hour!
274
Ye ne'er can know what mighty grief
Perchance in madness sought relief,
Or how, by Error led astray,
At last the wanderer lost his way!
Perchance in madness sought relief,
Or how, by Error led astray,
At last the wanderer lost his way!
Ye ne'er can know what wrong or strife
Has blurr'd for him the leaf of Life;
But He who reads it—good or ill—
With pitying eyes—He loves him still!
Has blurr'd for him the leaf of Life;
But He who reads it—good or ill—
With pitying eyes—He loves him still!
Ah! to no heart, though dark and drear
From Heaven it stray, can sin be dear!
And they, who most the siren know,
Must loathe the most her haunts of wo.
From Heaven it stray, can sin be dear!
And they, who most the siren know,
Must loathe the most her haunts of wo.
Beware, lest, while that erring heart,
By suffering learns “the better part,”
Your own, secure in pride, be steel'd,
And meet the judgment unanneal'd!
By suffering learns “the better part,”
Your own, secure in pride, be steel'd,
And meet the judgment unanneal'd!
And thou, poor sinner, who dost know,
Of guilt, the shame, the wrong, the wo;
Who feel'st too well that sin can claim
The only sorrow worth the name;
Of guilt, the shame, the wrong, the wo;
Who feel'st too well that sin can claim
The only sorrow worth the name;
275
Turn thou from those, who turn from thee—
From him who should thy brother be,
And while thou weep'st, with grateful thrill,
Look up to Heaven—God loves thee still!
From him who should thy brother be,
And while thou weep'st, with grateful thrill,
Look up to Heaven—God loves thee still!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |