Poem: ‘What the year has left undone’, from the Twelfth month issue, 1854

Poem by Henry Ware Jr.

It is not what my hands have done,
  That weighs my spirit down,
That casts a shadow on the sun,
  And over earth a frown:
It is not any heinous guilt,
  Or vice by men abhorred;
For fair the frame that I have built,
  A fair life’s just reward;
And men would wonder if they knew,
How sad I feel with sins so few!

Alas! they only read in part,
  When thus they judge the whole: – 
They cannot look upon the heart, –
  They cannot read the soul:
But I survey myself within,
  And mournfully I feel,
How deep the principle of sin,
  Its roots may there conceal,
And spread its poison through the frame,
Without a deed that men may blame.

They judge by actions which they see
  Brought out before the sun;
But conscience brings reproach to me
  For what I’ve left undone.
For opportunities of good
  In folly thrown away,
For time misused in solitude,
  Forgetfulness to pray,
And thousand more omitted things
Whose memory fills my breast with stings.

And therefore is my heart oppressed
  With thoughtfulness and gloom,
Nor can I hope for perfect rest
  Till I escape this doom
Help me, thou Merciful and Just!
  This fearful doom to fly,
Thou art my strength, my peace, my trust,
  Oh help me, lest I die!
And let my full obedience prove
The perfect power of faith and love.

*The poem is uncredited in the original issue. Henry Ware Jr (1794-1843) was an influential Unitarian theologian in Philadelphia, but the poem seems to have been popular among Friends, appearing in several Quaker publications from the period.

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