The Poetry of Real Life A New Edition, Much Enlarged and Improved. By Henry Ellison |
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TO CERTAIN PERSONS. |
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 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
15
TO CERTAIN PERSONS.
How little charity there is in men!
They will not overlook the little ill
For the much good, but censure all, and kill
The goodness in the bud, which, even then
And there, was ripening—aye, where my pen
Sinned most, it was more from the want of skill
In unfledged Thought to use his wings, than will
To hurt aught living, though 't were but a wren!
Some of religion prate, who want its soul,
That charity, the essence of the whole—
Make God partake their hatred against those
Who differ from them, or will not pay toll
At their gates, on the road which they suppose
Leads to salvation, and by “Act” inclose—
They will not overlook the little ill
For the much good, but censure all, and kill
The goodness in the bud, which, even then
And there, was ripening—aye, where my pen
Sinned most, it was more from the want of skill
In unfledged Thought to use his wings, than will
To hurt aught living, though 't were but a wren!
Some of religion prate, who want its soul,
That charity, the essence of the whole—
Make God partake their hatred against those
Who differ from them, or will not pay toll
At their gates, on the road which they suppose
Leads to salvation, and by “Act” inclose—
But I forgive them, for his heavenly sake,
Who taught us all that lesson on the cross,
That to forgive is gain, to hate mere loss;
And this alone is the revenge I take.
For not for such as they are would I make
My soul a common sewer for the dross
And dregs of being, howsoe'er they gloss
It over, nor let hate my peace thus break!
Yes, I forgive them, and heap coals of fire
So on their heads, which yet I would put out:
For, whatsoever things my soul may doubt,
It this believes—that charity is higher
Than dogmas; and those atheists without,
Who, casting Love off, cast off God entire!
Who taught us all that lesson on the cross,
That to forgive is gain, to hate mere loss;
And this alone is the revenge I take.
For not for such as they are would I make
My soul a common sewer for the dross
And dregs of being, howsoe'er they gloss
It over, nor let hate my peace thus break!
Yes, I forgive them, and heap coals of fire
So on their heads, which yet I would put out:
For, whatsoever things my soul may doubt,
It this believes—that charity is higher
Than dogmas; and those atheists without,
Who, casting Love off, cast off God entire!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |