How, Poor Frail And Erring Mortal Poem by Rachel Elizabeth Patterson

How, poor frail and erring mortal,
Darest thou judge thy fellow-man
And with bitter words and feelings,
All his faults and frailties scan?

Why rake out from time's dull ashes,
And before the world display
Deeds, it may be, long repented
And forgiven, ere this day?

Canst thou search his secret feelings?
Canst thou read his inmost soul?
Canst thou tell the hidden motives
Which his actions here control?

Is he erring? seek in kindness,
Then, to win him back to peace;
Is he weak? oh try to strengthen;
Sad? then bid his sorrows cease!

Lay thou not a heavier burden
By an unkind look or word,
On a heart which may by anguish
To its inmost depths be stirred.

O! forbear thy hasty judging!
Should thy righteous God demand
Half the justice which thy brother
Is receiving from thy hand,

What, oh what would be thy portion,
Though more righteous thou than he,
Would not the glad gates of mercy
Soon their portals close on thee?