THE HOUSE OF MERCY

By Francis Sherman

I question not, Beloved, nor deny

That you had God's own right of punishment;

Yet now my sins and days are over and spent

Find you the hours so pleasant that go by?

Would not the colour of the fields and sky,

The odour of the woods, bring more content

Now, if a little pity had been lent

Then, unto love, to judge a life awry?

Upon a day the young June grasses seem

Quite still that keep the edge of the still stream;

I think you go down close to them, and say:

“O little grasses, waiting patiently,

I come to tell you this is God's decree:

‘ I comfort him who suffered yesterday?’”