Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/85

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OR every sin that comes before the light,
 * And leaves an outward blemish on the soul,

How many, darker, cower out of sight,
 * And burrow, blind and silent, like the mole.

And like the mole, too, with its busy feet
 * That dig and dig a never-ending cave,

Our hidden sins gnaw through the soul, and meet
 * And feast upon each other in its grave.

A buried sin is like a covered sore
 * That spreads and festers 'neath a painted face;

And no man's art can heal it evermore,
 * But only His—the Surgeon's—promised grace.

Who hides a sin is like the hunter who
 * Once warmed a frozen adder with his breath,

And when he placed it near his heart it flew
 * With poisoned fangs and stung that heart to death.