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HA RSH JUD G ME NTS. 15 3
He, whom no praise can reach, is aye
Men's least attempts approving; Whom justice makes all merciful
Omniscience makes all-loving.
How Thou canst think so well of us,
Yet be the God Thou art, Is darkness to my intellect,
But sunshine to my heart.
Yet habits linger in the soul;
More grace, O Lord ! more grace! More sweetness from Thy loving Heart,
More sunshine from Thy Face !
When we ourselves least kindly are,
We deem the world unkind; Dark hearts, in flowers where honey lies,
Only the poison find.
We paint from self the evil things
We think that others are; While to the self-despising soul
All things but self are fair.
Yes, they have caught the way of God,
To whom self lies displayed In such clear vision as to cast
O'er others' faults a shade.