“Judge not,” they cry, and wave the sacred scroll,
As if the Lord’s own word were license free
To revel deep in flesh’s darkened goal,
And bid the righteous veil what eyes can see.
Once mercy’s call to check the judging heart,
Now anthem loud for every wayward deed;
The beam removed, yet motes they cherish apart,
And sin, once shamed, is crowned as noble creed.
O culture blind, that loves its chains of night
More than the Light who bids the sinner turn!
You twist the verse to justify delight
In what the holy writ condemns and spurns.
True judgment stands—not spite, but truth’s pure rod:
They love their sin far more than they love God.