To M.p.

The Critic grieves at Virtue's loss,
And rails at Evil's stride,
But Love still holds aloft the Cross,
And shows the Crucified.

One, safe in a secure retreat,
Disdains the maddened throng;
The other braves the seething street,
And strives to right the wrong.

Self shudders at the angry waves,
And dreams of what should be,
But Love the sinking sinner saves,
And stills the stormy sea.