The Better Part

Long fed on boundless hopes, O race of man,
How angrily thou spurn'st all simpler fare!
" Christ," some one says, " was human as we are;
No judge eyes us from Heaven, our sin to scan;

" We live no more, when we have done our span." —
" Well, then, for Christ," thou answerest, " who can care?
From sin, which Heaven records not, why forbear?
Live we like brutes our life without a plan!"

So answerest thou; but why not rather say:
" Hath man no second life? — Pitch this one high !
Sits there no judge in Heaven, our sin to see? —

" More strictly, then, the inward judge obey!
Was Christ a man like us? Ah! let us try
If we then, too, can be such men as he!"
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.