Poems (Kennedy)/Charity

by Sara Beaumont Kennedy

For works with similar titles, see Charity.

CHARITY

IS it to drop full carelessly
 A penny in the beggar's hand
And salve the conscience with the thanks
 The whining crone has planned?

Is it to feed a hungry mouth
 With leavings from a board well spread,
The bits of meat we cast away,
 The hardest crusts of broken bread?

Is it to clothe a naked child
 Or freezing man against the storm,
With worn-out garments which have ceased
 To keep our pampered bodies warm?

Is this, then, all of charity,
 These carnal gifts of man to man?
Nay; these were but the outer husks
 In Christ's revivifying plan.

To stop thine ears 'gainst evil tales
 Of slander and of shame;
To say, "judge not," when wanton tongues
 Befoul with sneers a once fair name—

To guard thy lips close-shut lest they
 Join in the hounding, coward cry
With which a horde of censurers
 Drives forth a lonely soul to die—

To hold thyself too pure and true
 To trample on another's woe,
Believing what thou hast not seen,
 Condemning what thou canst not know—

To do these things is best to use
 The charity that Christ decreed,
For transient are the body's wants,
 Eternal is the spirit's need.

Thou canst not read another heart
 Nor probe the mysteries of life;
Thou knowest not 'gainst what deadly odds
 Was waged the bitter, long-drawn strife.

Nor canst thou tell what ground was held,
 How near the triumph was complete;
One postern lost, the world condemns
 And on the banner writes "Defeat."

If we slay man, his brother man
 Extorts of us the murderer's dole;
God judges when, with word unjust,
 We thrust aside a stricken soul!

So owe we it to Christ himself
 To judge with his sweet charity
Those who, half hid in censure's cloud,
 Walk in their dread Gethsemane!