If God died for us, and lay in a grave,
Leaving His mansions of glory for this;
It must have been from a longing to save
Such a noble sinner as Harry is.
In His own image created He him,
And He called man 'good' on the virgin sod;
And when He beheld His image grow dim,
He died to redeem it--the gracious God!
Rebuking myself with an angry pain--
What was I wishing for? What would I have?
A paragon fram'd by my shallow brain,
And not the sinner God died to save?
I have _driven_ madness out of my brain,
Studying life with intolerant eyes;
Praying and weeping and praying again--
Earth is good for nothing but prayers and sighs.
We all are made up of follies and faults,
That, if time but serv'd, would lead us to crime;
And for every time my darling halts,
I am sure I have halted fifty times!
I am not blinded or prejudiced here;
I have sought the truth and found what I sought;
I know you were wrong, my Harry, my dear;
You should not have play'd and quarrell'd and fought.
Had you been _here_ on that evening--a cry
Comes out of my heart as _one_ grace I implore:
Let me not think of our evenings, or I
Shall suddenly die, and see him no more.
I know you were wrong, my darling; I know
That we all do wrong, and must all repent;
But this horrible depth of nameless woe
Was nothing on earth but an accident.
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