How near another's heart we oft may stand, Yet all unknowing what we fain would know Its heights of joy, its depths of bitter woe, As, wrecked upon some desert island's strand, They watch our white sails near and nearer grow; Then we, who for their rescue death would dare, Unheeding pass, and leave them to despair.

How oft the word which we would gladly speak Might be, unto some darkly groping soul, The key to bid doubt's massive doors unroll, The free winds' breath upon the prisoner's cheek, Or. to the hungry heart, sweet pity's dole! We hurry on, nor know that they are near, As passed Evangeline the one so dear.

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Speak kindly to the erring; Thou yet may'st lead them back, With holy words and tones of love, From misery's thorny track. Forget not thou hast often sinned. And sinful yet must be; Deal gently with the erring one, As God hath dealt with thee.