Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 146, January 7, 1914

Heavily dragged the night; the Year
Was passing, and the clock's slow tick
Boomed its sad message to my ear
And made me pretty sick.
You have been slack, I told myself, and weak;
You have done foolishly, from wilful choice;
Sloth and procrastination— Here my voice
Broke in a squeak.
And deep repentance welled in me
As I mused darkly on my sin;
Yea, Conscience stung me, like a bee