Perceives the whilom careless act a crime,
Or finds some fancied fault to progress tend,—
By wiser vision traced to truer end;
Till, growing shrewder in the growing light,
We know no lack of good but our own lack of sight.
III.
Thus, sad at first, we mark each evil deed,
Of ignorance or will, bear fatal seed
Of suffering to others in its train,—
The guileless share its penalty of pain,—