COULD WE BUT SEE AS THE HOLIEST SEES.
By Hope Onslow
COULD we but see as the Holiest sees
The heart of the one we blame,
Know all the strife and the mysteries,
Measure his wo and shame,
Go through the fire of his sore ordeal,
Take his turn on the polishing wheel,
Have his inheritance, ah! it is clear
Our blame would be melted to sympathy's tear,
And from compassion, a prayer would arise
For the soul that we know not to-day, and despise. He who could see as the Holiest sees,
Saw there was need of love's plan;
Fathomed the depths of our life's mysteries—
Bearing the nature of man.
Every heart's sorrow, every heart's sin—
O, the great heart of our Lord took it in!
And would not blame or condemn, till for loss
Love poured out its life on Calvary's cross.
Shall Christ's compassion teach us to be slow
In condemning a soul that we never can know? How can the Holiest, loving in heaven
Look upon us in our pride,
That we can lightly condemn one, when even
Christ still refrains, though He died?
Better for us that we pray for His Spirit,
Better for us that we count our demerit,
Better for us that we longingly stand,
With a Christlike compassion, and a help-reaching
hand.