A Failure

A Failure.
. W., Broaway
175.2

He failed? Perhaps but now he is at rest,
Cold, tired hands upon a quiet breast.
Think only of him what is best.
He failed? But you have laid him ‘neath the sod;
The rest concerns himself and God.
It is not yours to judge.
How can you know How hard the path he had to go?
The futile struggle for the right-
The effort always after light-
The shifting scene, the far-off goal,
Can human nature judge a soul?
And then the blackness and the night!

He failed? Oh, drop the veil of mercy here,
And leave a flower and a tear,
The trail of angel robes is near!
He failed? Oh, God, yet he had aspirations, too,
And shattered dreams, yet what is that to you?
It is not yours to judge. Let not your own
Be the cursed hand that casts a stone.
Poor, silent heart! He failed, you say-
Where is the spirit from that clay?
Perhaps it soars-the far-off goal! It is not your to judge a soul,
Kneel here in reverence, then, and pray!