Adelaide Anne Procter

Judge not; the workings of his brainAnd of his heart thou canst not see;What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,In God's pure light may only beA scar, brought from some well-won field,Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

Our Beasts and our Thieves and our ChattelsHave weight for good or for ill;But the Poor are only His image,His presence, His word, His will; -And so Lazarus lies at our doorstepAnd Dives neglects him still.

No star is ever lost we once have seen,We always may be what we might have beenSince Good, though only thought,Has life and breath -God's life - can always be redeemed from death.And evil in its nature is decay,And any hour may blot it all away.The hope that lost in some far distance seems,May be the truer life, and this the dream.