Classic Poem

I think my sins, now wandering restless ways,
Will find at last the waiting Judgment-seat,
Will shake and shatter at that quiet Gaze!
All but one sin—a sin so strange, so sweet,
That all the saints will stand in rows and wonder,
As happily it buds across high space,
Climbs fearless up those clapping walls of thunder,
And blossoms whitely in a kind, still Face.