Recompense

Let thy opulent heart be strong
Against wrong,
And it shall be richer yet;
     For to help the helpless, aye,
    Is to lay
Upon Heaven itself thy debt.

Never grows thy treasure less
    Spent to bless,
But increases with the gift;
In the usury of Heaven
    ‘Tis the given,
Not the kept, that gathers thrift.

Only in the open breast
    God will rest, —
Narrow-natures have no room;
Hand that to unclose refuse
    So shall lose,
Into them no good can come.

They who kindle anger’s torch
    Feel it scorch
Deeper the more fiercely blown;
Palms in the benediction spread
    Catch the thread
That binds Misery to the Throne.

When our pities rend in twain
    Any chain,
We, ourselves, have larger scope;
Joys in other bosoms sown
    O’er your own
Grow into a greener hope.

But the fingers in that scorn
    Plant the thorn,
Shall be torn by it in wrath;
And he who first shall feel the sting
    Who will fling
Nettles in a brother’s path.

Ever thus the wrong recoils,
    And o’er-boils,
Wasting with its angry heat;
Thus hath high Benevolence
    Recompense,
Beautiful and pure and sweet.