The mystery of thy brother’s heart,
Nor vainly think his faith is dim,
Because in thine it hath no part;
He, too, is mortal,—and, like thee,
Would soar to immortality.
4 And if in duty’s hallowed sphere,
Like Christ, he meekly, humbly bends,—
With hands unstained, and conscience clear,
With life’s temptations still contends,—
O, leave him that unbroken rest,