'Tis time, my soul, thou shouldst be purged of pride. What men are these with thee, whose ill deeds done Make thee thus shrink from them and be denied? They are but as thou art, each mother's son A convict in transgression. Here is one, Sayest thou, who struck his fellow and he died. And yet he weeps hot tears. Do thy tears run? This other thieved, yet clasps Christ crucified. Where is thy greater virtue? Thinkest thou sin Is but crime's record on the judgment seat? Or must thou wait for death to be bowed down? Oh for a righteous reading which should join Thy deeds together in an accusing sheet, And leave thee if thou couldst, to face men's frown! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EARLY PRIMROSE by HENRY KIRKE WHITE LINES WRITTEN IN A CITY COMPOSING-ROOM by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE DAWN PATROL by PAUL BEWSHER THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYES by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON OLD BOOKS ARE BEST by BEVERLY CHEW PIPPA AND HER FLOWERS by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE |