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Original, serious, and religious poetry

by the Rev. Richard Cobbold

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TO THE UNFORGIVING.
  
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66

TO THE UNFORGIVING.

What will ye never, never lose that pride,
That makes ye nothing; makes ye mad with hate;
Will never nature, or affection chide,
And make ye think of other better state;
Or, will ye furiously still debate,
And dwell on injury, O never done:
Ye cannot fancy friendship till too late,
And never can be happy 'neath the sun,
O wake ye, wake, or linger out your day,
A mock to charity. Forgive O Lord I pray.
No ye will never; how then will ye feel,
When standing at the Judgment seat, ye say,
“Lord when on earth accustomed both to kneel
“And use thy language, we did daily pray,

67

“Forgive our trespasses O Lord this day;
“As we ourselves our trespassers forgive.”
How will ye feel when wisdom says, away!
Ye did not pardon! did not let him live,
Who would have been affectionate and kind,
Away. The merciful to justice is inclined.
Say has the kite compassion on the lark?
The wolf on lamb? the lion on the kid?
Has light connexion with the hated dark?
Will wild hyena do as he is bid?
Will haughty arrogance be good when chid?
Will blood hound thirst not for the love of gore?
Will miser generously lift the lid,
And spend in charity, his sordid store?
O no, no never; nor the hardened heart,
Cease, unforgiving, cease to act a cruel part.
O pride thou fosterer of deadly strife,
Thou purse proud monster of disgustful form,

68

Thou hated pageant of a worthless life!
Demon of fury! president of storm!
How swells the sycophant, at best a worm,
Who cannot find within his evil breast,
A feeling of affection, to disarm
The savage pride of nothingness; at least,
To check the devil; who in human face
Of cruel man or woman, dares to shew his trace.
Enough my line, the unforgiving man,
Or spiteful woman, vengeful in her ire,
May one day suffer for their deadly plan,
And should they, nothing of delight will fire
The breast of one, whom friendship should inspire,
No pleasure to the good; but rather pain,
O gladly would affection strike the lyre,
And bid kind harmony appear again;
But unforgiving will imbibe the leaven
On earth be miserable; cursed too in Heaven.