273
ON A PICTURE OF PENITENCE.
Aye, look to Heaven. Earth seems to lend
Refuge nor ray thy steps to guide,
Bids pity with suspicion blend,
And slander check compassion's tide.
We will not ask what thorn hath found
Admittance to thy bosom fair,
If love hath dealt a traitor's wound,
Or hopeless folly wake despair:
We only say, that sinless clime,
To which is raised thy streaming eye,
Hath pardon for the deepest crime,
Though erring man the boon deny:
We only say, the prayerful breast,
The gushing tear of contrite pain,
Have power to ope that portal blest,
Where vaunting pride doth toil in vain.
