Hate.
By Thomas Frederick Young
While love inspires, and friendship warms
All hearts, in ev'ry state,
High over thee, grim hatred storms,
As pitiless as fate.
Remorseless, unrelenting, hard,
It holds its stubborn way,
Which duty's claim cannot retard,
Nor righteous thoughts delay.
With steady look, it keeps its eye
Fixed firmly on its foe;
With panting zeal it hurries by,
To make its deadly throw.
In bosoms white it sits in state,
And often, faces fair
Conceal the rankling fire of hate,
Which looks may not declare.
It is not strange to church or state,
For oft beneath the gown
Of prelate grave, and judge sedate,
It sits with hideous frown.
Disturbing truth and righteous law,
It scorns the bitter tear,
And laughs at all we hold in awe,
And all that causes fear.
O God of love, and not of hate,
Look down where'er we be,
And snatch us, ere 'tis yet too late,
From hate's black, raging sea.
From rolling tides of vengeful thought,
Oh, lift us far above,
And may we thank Thee as we ought,
From pleasant seas of love.