Stones are meant for pretty gardens,

for flowered, charming rookeries.

Stones are meant for the mountains

and the eye to sweetly see.

If you have not erred, nor idly sinned,

then a miracle you must possess.

Loose no stone from your hateful hand,

unless you are willing to confess.

If each of us was blameless,

without stain or blot or mistake;

shine the light on their countenance,

so their bows they may now take.

What we see as a blemish in others

we never find within our own selves,

as if we were pretty baubles 

beaming on our innocent shelves.