THE GENTLE HEART

By John Presland

What shall harm the gentle heart

In its purpose undefiled?

Even grief shall lose its smart

In some way becoming part

Of that nature, soothed and gentled,

As a sorrow to a child.

Through the blackness and the sin

Of the old world's wrongs and woes,

And through the greater dark within,

The gentle heart shall surely win,

As some bright angel, armed with mercy,

Swiftly on his errand goes.

All the body may have wrought,

All the energies of mind

That for its own purpose sought,

Make at length a little nought

Among the stars — the gentle heart

Death itself will leave behind.