THOU wouldst not be avenged if thou hadst but

Insight enough into the human heart,

Into its frailty and its cowardice.

Thou wouldst not be avenged if thou but sawest

How mad, how childish and how selfish are

The helpless ones, that did thee harm because

They thought—Ah! What then thought they! That perchance

You hated them, or trod them down, or took

Their sun away; and e'en for love will they

Destroy thee, meaning well with thee—so well,

That they as lief would see thee dead, not to

Belong to what they hate—thy work, thy friend,

Thy strong ambition, or the gift that God

Hath put into thy soul, that calleth thee

Away to other heights and other temples,

Then where they long have worshipped. They dislike

Thy road, thy word, they call it strange and dark,

And they would lead thee back to where they started

So long ago with thee, and show the wrong

Thou doest quite unwittingly. A sigh,

A smile is all thine answer, but thy way

Is chosen; then the hue and cry is raised

Against thee, and thy staunchest friends will pile

With eager hands the wood on which to burn

Thy very soul, and not a tear will quench

That fire, not a hand will save thee, for

Thou art misunderstood, misjudged, despised,

And hated by the friends, who once believed

In thee as in their God. And what revenge

Could help thee? Falling back on thee, thy arm

Struck to the ground, thy heart a desert, not

Devastated to bloom again, but burnt

To lava by your heart's own flame of vengeance.

And if forgiveness be too great for thee,

Go past, turn not thy head, speak not a word

That cannot be recalled, and that will bar

The road for ever, that will cut the cloth

Between thy foes and thee. The present hour

Hath made that foe, who may come back to thee,

And see thy truth. Be great and say: I have

No foe! I smile, and they are nought! A breath

May lay them low, so low that they must call

To me for help! Then is thy vengeance ripe!

Give help with gentle pity. Feel that thou

Art ready with a well of living waters,

With flowers still more lovely than before.

Keep down the flames that make thee a volcano.

Let lovely warmth be all their strength. For thou

Art called upon to love and not to hate,

To help and not to punish, as thine eyes

Are far too weak to see the consequence

Of human anger. Even the volcano

Is aimless, powerless, like Fate itself,

And thou canst not be Fate. Ah! Be thou then

A human heart amongst poor human hearts!