Poems (Ryan)/If

by Mary C. Ryan

For works with similar titles, see If.

IF.

How oft upon a wound that smarts,
 We'd pour the oil of charity,
If we the depths of all men's hearts
         Could only see.

And sympathetic tears would fall,
 For erring souls in guilt and woe,
If we the temptations of all
         Did only know.

The crimes and sins of a dark life,
 Even less heinous would appear,
If we the wails of its fierce strife
         Could only hear.

And follies, faults of fellow-men,
 Gladly from slander we'd conceal,
If we their pride, anguish, and pain
         Could only feel.

So the pure springs of charity,
 For God's lost sheep would ever flow,
If we heart trials, wrongs could see,
         From depths of woe.

Some day before the great white throne,
 When our lost soul for mercy pleads,
Trembling we will approach alone
         With worthless deeds,

And hope, though vile, defiled by sin,
 To be made pure with Jesus' blood.
So look to self. Judge not frail men.
         Leave all with God.

For He, who knows secrets of all,
 Cleanseth the vilest wretch from sins,
E'en while the penitent's tears fall,
         Mercy begins.