THE HEAVIEST CROSS.

THE HEAVIEST CROSS.
Edgar M. More.
485.1

It must be pitiful to bear great blame,
All undeserved, sure that with open scorn,
Or unclean jests of their own vileness born,
Or covert sneers, vile lips repeat your name.

To know that honest men whom you have loved
Do speak you ill; or else, from very ruth
(Rather than speak what they believe the truth),
Keep silence, by a tender sorrow moved.

To know that though your heart be clean and pure,
And though with earnest aim you walk your ways,
Still will this shadow fold you all your days;
Still will this bitterness of doubt endure.

More to be pitied still I think is he,
Who, walking in the sunlight of fair fame,
Hides in his soul a secret sin and shame;
Though all untouched by breath of calumny