[A DEBTOR]
OH, do not say that thanklessness has been
Thy sole reward! What? Wouldst thou be rewarded?
When God had laid the gift into thy heart,
Thy hand, upon the road thou hadst to tread?
Lay all thy thanks before the feet of him
Who did not shun thy help, thy gift, thy love,
But bore the humiliation and the weakness,
And bared his heart before thy human gaze,
The heart where none but God e'er read the truth,
The burning record of despair. Be humble,
Thyself, and touch not roughly, where the wound
Is open, see the beads of anguish on
The furrowed brow, the tightdrawn lips, and hear
The tremor in the whispered words, that roll
So heavily from off the heart, and leave
It crushed, sometimes for ever. Dost thou know
What lifeblood it hath cost to speak to thee,
What tortured nights have gone before, what cry
Of anguish rose towards that God, who seemed
So merciless to him and overkind
To thee, allowing thee to be his angel,
To answer when a living word of love
Had to be spoken, and a hand put out to help.
Make him forget what he has told thee,
Let him not feel that thou hast not forgotten,
But make him help thee in his turn, when thine
The pain, the care, the fear; allow him then
To tend thee, and to pay his debt to thy
Humility, and to thy thankfulness.
["VENGEANCE IS MINE," SAITH THE LORD]
THOU wouldst not be avenged if thou hadst but
Insight enough into the human heart,
Into its frailty and its cowardice.
Thou wouldst not be avenged if thou but sawest
How mad, how childish and how selfish are
The helpless ones, that did thee harm because
They thought—Ah! What then thought they! That perchance
You hated them, or trod them down, or took
Their sun away; and e'en for love will they
Destroy thee, meaning well with thee—so well,
That they as lief would see thee dead, not to
Belong to what they hate—thy work, thy friend,
Thy strong ambition, or the gift that God
Hath put into thy soul, that calleth thee
Away to other heights and other temples,
Then where they long have worshipped. They dislike
Thy road, thy word, they call it strange and dark,
And they would lead thee back to where they started
So long ago with thee, and show the wrong
Thou doest quite unwittingly. A sigh,
A smile is all thine answer, but thy way
Is chosen; then the hue and cry is raised
Against thee, and thy staunchest friends will pile
With eager hands the wood on which to burn
Thy very soul, and not a tear will quench
That fire, not a hand will save thee, for
Thou art misunderstood, misjudged, despised,
And hated by the friends, who once believed
In thee as in their God. And what revenge
Could help thee? Falling back on thee, thy arm
Struck to the ground, thy heart a desert, not
Devastated to bloom again, but burnt
To lava by your heart's own flame of vengeance.
And if forgiveness be too great for thee,
Go past, turn not thy head, speak not a word
That cannot be recalled, and that will bar
The road for ever, that will cut the cloth
Between thy foes and thee. The present hour
Hath made that foe, who may come back to thee,
And see thy truth. Be great and say: I have
No foe! I smile, and they are nought! A breath
May lay them low, so low that they must call
To me for help! Then is thy vengeance ripe!
Give help with gentle pity. Feel that thou
Art ready with a well of living waters,
With flowers still more lovely than before.
Keep down the flames that make thee a volcano.
Let lovely warmth be all their strength. For thou
Art called upon to love and not to hate,
To help and not to punish, as thine eyes
Are far too weak to see the consequence
Of human anger. Even the volcano
Is aimless, powerless, like Fate itself,
And thou canst not be Fate. Ah! Be thou then
A human heart amongst poor human hearts!