If a hand hath such a stain
It will ne'er come white again--
(Though its cleansing hath sufficed
It should touch the hand of _Christ_,
There be shames the world counts loss
Past the helping of the Cross,)
Let it not drop idly then,
It may serve God's race of men;
It may work with Him below,
Where the white hands fear to go;
Looking up, and reaching down,
There is neither fear nor frown;
In such service, day by day,
Evil marks shall wear away;
She that washed Christ's feet is known
In Heaven by that act alone.
If a heart hath such a pain
It can ne'er be gay again--
(There are hurts whose cure is grown
On the heavenly hills alone;
Some most bitter tears will stay
Last, for God to wipe away.)
Think on whose high-priestly head
Grief's full chrism once was shed;
Not without some rites of pain
Doth Got his comforters ordain;
And O, that feeble lives like ours
Should taste the great hereafter's powers!
The heart the shifting world has left,
Like waters sunken in a cleft,
Learns quiet from the eternal eye,
And mirrors nothing but the sky.
