'Tis time, my soul, thou shouldst be purged of pride. <br />What men are these with thee, whose ill deeds done <br />Make thee thus shrink from them and be denied? <br />They are but as thou art, each mother's son <br />A convict in transgression. Here is one, <br />Sayest thou, who struck his fellow and he died. <br />And yet he weeps hot tears. Do thy tears run? <br />This other thieved, yet clasps Christ crucified. <br /> <br />Where is thy greater virtue? Thinkest thou sin <br />Is but crime's record on the judgment seat? <br />Or must thou wait for death to be bowed down? <br />Oh for a righteous reading which should join <br />Thy deeds together in an accusing sheet, <br />And leave thee if thou couldst, to face men's frown!<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-lesson-in-humility/
