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JUDGE NOT.
His blessed air is free to all ;
On good and evil, great and small,
He makes his glorious sunshine fall.
And, looking from His holy hill,
He marks the strivings of our will,
Knows all our sins, and loves us still.
But we who can so little know
From whence our brother's actions flow,
What thorns along his pathway grow,—
His helpless groping in the night,
His heartfelt struggles toward the light,—
We judge, and call on God to smite.
Ah! much I fear that in that day
When all deceit is swept away,
And all things seen in Heaven's pure day,
