Judge not; the workings of his brainAnd of his heart thou canst not see;What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,In God's pure light may only beA scar, brought from some well-won field,Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.
Adelaide Anne Procter
Judge not; the workings of his brainAnd of his heart thou canst not see;What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,In God's pure light may only beA scar, brought from some well-won field,Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.