A True Lent
Is this a fast,—to keep
The larder lean,
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg’d to go,
Or show
A downcast look, and sour?
No! ’t is a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate,—
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin,—
And that ’s to keep thy Lent.