Judge not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain
In God’s pure light may only be
A scar, brought from a well-worn field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.
If, invisible ourselves, we could follow a single human being through a single day of his life, and know all the secret thoughts and hopes and anxieties, his prayers and tears and good resolves, his passionate delights and struggles against temptations, we should have enough to fill a volume.
-Henry W. Longfellow.
We little dream of the conflict
Fought in each human soul
The earth knows not her heroes
Upon God’s honor roll.