Classic Poem

Oh , speak to thy Brother, perchance he has erred,
But magic there dwells in a comforting word,
And a sentence of counsel, imparted in love,
May steal tOhis heart as the tone of the dove.

The iron of censure has entered his soul,
Speak soothingly once and the tear-drop will roll,
The gushings of penitence, tempered with bliss,
The ray of fresh confidence, all shall be his.

True, others forsake him when wreck'd with despair;
Will you make his burden still harden to bear?
Oh, ease then, that load which is crushing him fast,
One brow let there be with no frown overcast.

His guilt may be dark — and the merciless storm,
Of stern accusation is bowing his form;
Let him creep to thy heart till its peltings are o'er,
And then he may wander from virtue no more.

Say, — say — dost thou hope for the mercy of Heaven,
And hast thou full oft been by Jesus forgiven?
Then stand like an angel to shelter and cheer,
And bid the bright rainbow illumine the tear.

Should others reproach thee — oh, heed not the jest,
Speak kind to the erring — and hope for the best:
If Godhead could stoop for the vilest to die,
Compassion's sweet boon wilt thou dare to deny?

No, speak to thy Brother — rise up and be strong;
What matters to thee the rough taunt of the throng?
Let him creep to one heart till the tempest is o'er,
And then he may wander from virtue no more.