CHARITY
IS it to drop full carelessly
A penny in the beggar's hand
And salve the conscience with the thanks
The whining crone has planned?
A penny in the beggar's hand
And salve the conscience with the thanks
The whining crone has planned?
Is it to feed a hungry mouth
With leavings from a board well spread,
The bits of meat we cast away,
The hardest crusts of broken bread?
With leavings from a board well spread,
The bits of meat we cast away,
The hardest crusts of broken bread?
Is it to clothe a naked child
Or freezing man against the storm,
With worn-out garments which have ceased
To keep our pampered bodies warm?
Or freezing man against the storm,
With worn-out garments which have ceased
To keep our pampered bodies warm?
Is this, then, all of charity,
These carnal gifts of man to man?
Nay; these were but the outer husks
In Christ's revivifying plan.
These carnal gifts of man to man?
Nay; these were but the outer husks
In Christ's revivifying plan.
To stop thine ears 'gainst evil tales
Of slander and of shame;
To say, "judge not," when wanton tongues
Befoul with sneers a once fair name—
Of slander and of shame;
To say, "judge not," when wanton tongues
Befoul with sneers a once fair name—
To guard thy lips close-shut lest they
Join in the hounding, coward cry
With which a horde of censurers
Drives forth a lonely soul to die—
Join in the hounding, coward cry
With which a horde of censurers
Drives forth a lonely soul to die—
To hold thyself too pure and true
To trample on another's woe,
Believing what thou hast not seen,
Condemning what thou canst not know—
To trample on another's woe,
Believing what thou hast not seen,
Condemning what thou canst not know—
To do these things is best to use
The charity that Christ decreed,
For transient are the body's wants,
Eternal is the spirit's need.
The charity that Christ decreed,
For transient are the body's wants,
Eternal is the spirit's need.
Thou canst not read another heart
Nor probe the mysteries of life;
Thou knowest not 'gainst what deadly odds
Was waged the bitter, long-drawn strife.
Nor probe the mysteries of life;
Thou knowest not 'gainst what deadly odds
Was waged the bitter, long-drawn strife.
Nor canst thou tell what ground was held,
How near the triumph was complete;
One postern lost, the world condemns
And on the banner writes "Defeat."
How near the triumph was complete;
One postern lost, the world condemns
And on the banner writes "Defeat."
If we slay man, his brother man
Extorts of us the murderer's dole;
God judges when, with word unjust,
We thrust aside a stricken soul!
Extorts of us the murderer's dole;
God judges when, with word unjust,
We thrust aside a stricken soul!
So owe we 1t to Christ himself
To judge with his sweet charity
Those who, half hid in censure's cloud,
Walk in their dread Gethsemane!
To judge with his sweet charity
Those who, half hid in censure's cloud,
Walk in their dread Gethsemane!