 | Firdausi in Exile and Other Poems |  |
218
A PLEA.
The Preacher who hath fought a goodly fightAnd toiled for his great Master all day long,
Grows faint and harassed after evensong,
And harshly chides the eager proselyte;
The Sage who strode along the even height
Of narrow Justice severing wrong from wrong,
Stumbles, and sinks below the common throng,
In pits of prejudice forlorn of light.
But thou, within whose veins a cooler blood
Runs reasonably quiet, brand not thou
With name of hypocrite each sunken brow;
To every son of man on earth who would
The Graces have not given it to be good,
And virtuous fruit may break the laden bough.
| Firdausi in Exile and Other Poems | |