820. C. M. R. Nicoll. Honor all Men.
1 I may not scorn the meanest thing
That on the earth doth crawl;
The slave who would not burst his chain,
The tyrant in his hall.
2 The vile oppressor who hath made
The widowed mother mourn,
Though worthless, soulless he may stand,
I cannot, dare not scorn.
3 The darkest night that shrouds the sky,
Of beauty hath a share:
The blackest heart hath sighs to tell
That God still lingers there.